Living with a Muggle
by cerespallas
Summary: Draco and Hermione - She doesn't have to take care of him when he shows up in her life, hurt and broken. But her compassion and mothering nature kicks in, and now, she might just activate her own self-destruction.
1. Choice

**Before we begin...**

Story type: Post Hogwarts, no DH epilogue, Muggle world

Genre: Romance/Drama

Pairings: Draco x Hermione, Ginny x Harry, Hermione x Ron, Hermione x OC

Warning: a paraphlegic character

_- About my stories:_

Maybe it's best to say that I never create a perfect character. Everybody has flaws, and if a character has to suffer to make a believable flow, I am sure to make them suffer. Nobody escapes what needs to be done.

If you want a character that never suffers, perfect in attitude and appearance, never sweats, never have their clothes torn from fights or have his/her hair ruined or even a scrape after blowing up the world, my story isn't for you. To blow up a garbage bin, the characters in my story WILL suffer.

If there's any problem with wording and error in my old fics, please mention it, because I do revise everything every now and then. If some stories seem awkward on the first few chapters, please note the publish date, because it was most likely _they were old_. Later chapters of the same fics won't have this issue. Please tell me by PM or review, and I'll be sure to clean them up.

___- Disclaimer and story explanation:_

Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.

I set the time frame after DH, without the epilogue. There will not be many references about the novel or film, but I do follow the rule of characters. Which means the dead stays dead, other characters that I do not mention were doing their canon events.

Thank you in advance for reading this fic, I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**Living with a Muggle**

By cerespallas

**Part 1**

**Choice**

* * *

Hermione knew she needed to do something.

Half an hour ago, dinner and drinks were on their dinner table, to celebrate her graduation. She and her mother had since cleaned it up. Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna and Ginny had left. Harry and Ron were the last to leave her home, after saying goodbyes, promising to keep in touch. Her mother had accompanied them to the door.

Monica Wilkins smiled while drawing a chair from the table, studying her only daughter. A year ago after she sent her parents away to save them from Voldemort, they had decided not to change the surname back into Granger.

"So, what do you want to do from now on, dear?" Monica asked.

Hermione put her teacup on top of the dinner table. "Harry and Ron asked me if I want to join them in Shacklebolt Ministry. But I don't think that's the right job for me."

"What about the organization you said you're interested in expanding?" Monica asked. "It's something to do with house elves?"

"It's called S.P.E.W, Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare." Her daughter sighed. "I can't turn that into my permanent job, although I'm still doing it."

"If you need someone to knit socks or hat, I'll be glad to do it for you."

"Thank you." Hermione glanced up, crossed her arms and mumbled aloud, "Now that I'm a full-fledged witch… What should I do next?"

"You're still eighteen; you can do anything you want," Monica said, "…I want you to enter a college."

Hermione stared at her mother. "…College?"

Her mother stood up, walked to the kitchen cabinet, and pulled something out from the drawer. She gave Hermione a piece of paper.

Her daughter saw the paper and raised her eyebrow, did not bother to hide the humour in her tone. "You want a full-fledged witch to enter Imperial College—medical major?" She laughed. "Six year undergraduate?"

"I'm just giving you more choices." Monica leaned on the wall across from her daughter. "You can choose to live in the wizard world or in here. You're always a witch, but it doesn't mean you have to live there." She let a smile play on her lips when Hermione read the paper in silence. "Before you knew you have another gift, you always said you want to be a doctor, remember? You want to help people. I know as a witch, you can do that. But with more knowledge, you can help more people, whether they are wizards or normal humans."

Her mother's words played in her mind as she stared at the form. She had nothing to do. Even though she could work in the wizard world, she preferred to learn new things.

_Yeah, what's the problem? _Hermione shrugged. It was not like she was going to enter this college; there were only two-hundred and eighty-six students admitted each year. There was no better way to show her mother that she was better off in the wizard world.

"Alright," Hermione said, shoving the paper into her pocket. "I'll do it, but don't be disappointed if I don't make it."

Monica replied with a proud undertone, "I know you will make it."

—

"Achooo!"

_Why is mom always right? _

Hermione Jean Granger woke up, freezing. Hopping to her feet, she tried to raise her body temperature. Waking up in a chilly bed in a cold winter morning was not her idea of fun.

_The heater must've been broken again._

The twenty-year-old tumbled into her small bathroom, turning the shower on, shrieking in surprise. The water she expected to flow hot in her hands was cold and freezing. She sighed when the pipe stopped running on water. After smashing the tap, she realized it must have been freezing overnight.

Rubbing her hands together, Hermione fumbled to her open kitchen, drawing out a bag of coffee bean from the cabinet, turning the coffee machine on.

_What should I do today? Class… Returning books to the library…_ She glanced at her wall clock, nodding to herself. She still had an hour to go. She poured the liquid into her cup and carried the old mug to her couch. Two big swallow of her caffeine and she began to feel alive.

Feeling a bit happier, she observed the view outside her window. It was winter. The road outside was snowy. Her small and cheap flat was located fifteen minutes away from the South Kensington campus. When she said to her mother that she would try for it, she had never thought she would pass.

Hermione had moved into a small flat two years ago, leaving her cushy life. She still practiced her magical skills daily. However, being a hero who had defeated the Dark Lord was an impressive background that she had to keep from everyone around.

It had been an honour that a famous Muggle college would accept her, after she spent her teenage years studying in the magical world. Her Hogwarts friends were surprised when she told them that she would be a medical student in the Muggle world. Nevertheless, they understood her ambition for success.

Hermione loved challenges. Studying in one of the most prestigious school had been a big achievement for her, even though nowadays her life had nothing to do with wizard world.

_However, living—_She sneezed–_in such a small flat with an occasionally broken heater was not—S_he sneezed again–_an achievement at all!_

She finished her coffee. Ambling to her bedroom, she opened her closet and changed her thick pyjamas into red sweater and snug black jeans. Hermione grabbed her backpack and long coat before rushing towards the door, slipping her feet into a pair of thick socks and knee-length boots, sporting her coat and backpack before leaving.

In the hallway, it was even more freezing. Hermione pushed the elevator button, waiting for the shaft to arrive and shivering.

_Why has my landlord always ignored my complaint? _

She gritted her teeth. Ten minutes passed by. She narrowed her eyes, shook her head and decided to walk down through the stairs from her fifth floor.

_At least it would keep me warm!_

It did keep her warm, but when she arrived at the ground floor ten minutes afterwards, the college girl panted and crouched down, resting her spinning head between her knees.

_I must be getting sick…_

Holding the side of her waist with her hands, Hermione slowly rose up and made her way outside. When she felt the chill snow falling to her face and neck, a thought about running back in and sleeping through the days occurred in her mind.

_If only the heater is working._

Hermione sighed, pocketing her hands and pacing towards her campus.

—

The brunette felt happy when she strolled into the reception area of St. Mary hospital. Her class went fine, the books were now safe and secure inside the library. Her volunteer work should work like every other Thursday.

Since she was planning to ask for an internship in her senior year, she decided to apply for volunteer work first. Hermione's job was to read books for sick children and elders. She liked to cart their wheelchairs around the park. Sometimes she brought Crookshank to visit. Of course, that cat did not like it one bit, always attempting to run away. Which was why the cat stayed in her parent's house; she had never stayed home long enough to care for it.

The receptionist smiled when she approached her counter. "Hey, Jean."

She smiled back. Her first name baffled people. In the end, they decided to call her by her middle name. "What can I do today?"

"Let's see…" The receptionist turned to her computer. "There's a new patient. A young man. Could you help him change his clothes?"

Hermione blinked.

"I know what you're thinking about. This young man got injured in an accident. He can't move that much, he was paralysed from waist down." The receptionist rolled her eyes. "Lucky for him and unfortunately for us, his vocal chord was unscathed. He cursed everyone who tried to help him change his clothes. He'd been here for two days, so far refusing to talk or mentioning his family." She shook her head. "God bless whoever knows that man."

"How do you know I can do it?" Hermione frowned.

"Just try," the receptionist said, handing her the hospital gown. "None of us escaped his endless swearing. If you fail, no one'll blame you."

Hermione bit her lower lips and gave a nod. "Okay, I'll try."

The receptionist gave the man's room number. Hermione entered the lift and pushed the floor button, leaning on the wall. Swaying her head, she memorized today's lesson. With the gown in her hand, the brown-haired woman arrived outside the patient's room. She frowned. There was nothing on the bed. Then her eyes captured a slump under the blanket on the floor, below the bed. Rushing to help the fallen man, she received a harsh shove.

The man stooped low. Long, pale blonde hair covered his face. Hermione crouched nearby as he struggled to sit on his own. The paralysed man swore and punched the floor, his body trembling.

Hermione sympathized. It was hard for any person to find that they could not walk anymore. For some people, it led to depression.

"What are you doing here?" the man asked through gritted teeth.

"I'm here to help you change your clothes."

He snapped his head up, surprised to hear the voice he recognized. Hermione's eyes widened when she saw a pair of grey eyes…

That belonged to Draco Malfoy.

—

* * *

**_To be continued…_**


	2. Relatives

**Part 2**

**Relatives**

* * *

They stared at each other. One had a disbelieving look on her face while the other appeared cold and distant. After a while, his gaze flicked to the hospital gown in her hand, grey colour in his eyes turned paler.

"Well, well… so now, dirty Mudblood is a nurse in a Muggle hospital. How fitting."

Hermione released herself from trance and glared at Draco. Even after three years, he had never lost his hatred to Muggles.

She tossed the gown to his face. "I am not a nurse."

Draco removed the gown from his face with one hand, the other supporting his frame on the floor. "Not a nurse? Oh, sorry. You are a nurse-to-be, correct?" He waved the gown in front of her face. "Mudblood nurse-to-be, now help me change my clothes."

She clenched her fists, counting to ten.

He smirked in his usual _I-am-better-than-Mudblood_ kind of way, still waving the gown and waiting for her to lose her temper. When her mind-count reached ten, Hermione smiled. He blinked in surprise, expecting tackle and claws. Too bad, she would not tackle a crippled patient, even when the patient was Draco.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy." Hermione snatched the gown from his hand. Draco's brows furrowed. He had begun to stink, obviously just changing his clothes would not be enough to clean Draco 'foul ferret' Malfoy.

"Wait! What do you think you're doing?" Draco clutched his old hospital gown, halting her from pulling it off. "You're not going to do it!"

Hermione set up an innocent look on her face, tilting her head. "But this is my job, Mr. Malfoy! I am about to sponge bath you as well!"

"Spo—" Draco paled. "No! As if I will let a Mudblood bathe me!"

"What?" Hermione showed a pretend shock. "But this is my job!"

"I said no! You will _not _touch me!" He hunched his back, hand gripping the front of his shirt, eyes glaring at her.

Hermione threw her hands up in the air, glancing up to the ceiling in hyperbolic act. "You don't give me much choice, do you?" She stood up, walking to the bed and pressing the call button. Draco glared, refusing to let the Mudblood away from his sight.

"What are you doing?"

_Why, I am giving you the taste of your own medicine, of course._ "I will have to ask a group of nurses to help me bathe you."

Draco's eyes bulged out. "What? No! No! NO!"

Hermione examined the man, now that she was far enough to do so. He was thin. His hair was long, falling from the shoulder to his back. He was wearing a blue hospital gown. She frowned when she saw his knee. A red long stitch marked the thigh to the ankle. She noticed how Draco struggled to stay still. His eyes were staring at her in curiosity.

"What are you thinking?" he blurted out.

Before she had the time to retort, the door opened. Hermione smiled to the nurses. They were built and looked strong. "Please help me bathe him."

What happened next would be a great memory to Hermione. When her best enemy was screaming and trying his best to escape from the hands of two Muggles, Hermione held her laugh, pretending to be a professional instead of taking out her cell phone and recording the glorious moment from the start to the end.

* * *

"Do you feel comfortable if I set your pillow like this?"

The Mudblood crossed her arms, standing in front of his bed. "I don't think he'll feel good. Maybe you should lift the upper frame."

After the awkward sponge bath incident, they had moved him to his bed. Draco shut his eyes, pretending to be asleep. He did not wish to talk to anyone surrounding him right now.

One of the nurses turned to the Mudblood after lifting the upper bed frame. "You think this will make him comfortable?"

"Hmm… maybe you better turn the frame lower," replied Hermione.

Was he the only one who heard a tone of amusement in her voice?

The other nurse fixed his pillow. "Now… young man, is this comfortable for you?"

Again, the Mudblood was the one who replied, "I think he prefers a hard pillow. He slept better with that rather than the softer ones."

Draco gritted his teeth. His head fell to the bed. The nurse who had taken his pillow paced to the cupboard.

It was hard pretending to stay asleep when all he wanted to do was to strangle the Mudblood.

Draco let out a deep sigh when they lowered the upper bed frame. Yet when he felt a hard pillow placed under his head, he considered opening his eyes and threw a spell or two to the commanding girl. He could not emit any spell without a wand, but the attempt of cursing deadly spells at her would make him feel better.

"Jean," one of the nurses said to the Mudblood, "I didn't know you have a boyfriend."

"What?" The Mudblood sounded puzzled. "He wasn't… We're acquaintances."

"Really?" the other nurse piped in. "But you do know he slept better with a hard pillow. I don't think an acquaintance would know about that."

Draco peeked to see the Mudblood's reaction, arching his eyebrow when he saw her stammer.

_Huh. Interesting…_

"I-I am not his girlfriend!" the Mudblood stuttered. "I am not!" She glowered at him. "Tell them I'm not your girlfriend."

She knew he was not asleep after all.

Taking his time, Draco fluttered his eyelids in slow motion. All three pairs of eyes on him when he grinned. "What is it, Honey?"

The nurses shifted to the Mudblood. Her face went through a set of motions. Draco closed his eyes when he noted that she settled in a fuming rage.

"You—" the bushy-haired girl said. "I will make you—"

"Is there anything else? I'm very tired." Draco yawned.

The two nurses took their leave and sauntered out, leaving them. Draco could not help but notice their whispers and glances. The Mudblood breathed as deep as she could. Draco always thought it was her way of calming her temper, so he tried to flare her wrath further.

After all, that was where he excelled.

"So… Mudblood." He grinned. "How could you ask your two seniors for things you're supposed to do yourself? What a _bad_ nurse, _baaad_ dirty-Mudblood-nurse…"

He knew that blaze in her eyes. That was the same look she had had in her eyes when she gave him a face punch years ago.

He succeeded.

Draco knew he had won. After she hit him, he would call a nurse and sue the Mudblood. That was what Muggles did best, right? They were good at blaming each other.

When her fist flew to his grinning face, the door opened. The two turned to the door, her balled fist stopped halfway, one inch from his face.

* * *

A tall man with the white lab suit entered, a stethoscope hung on his neck. He was around thirty; cheekbone sculpted high with a set of green eyes and black hair. He stopped and frowned to the guilty face of Hermione.

Hermione drew her hand back.

"Dr. Kelley!" Hermione looked like a silly kid with her hand inside the cookie jar. She stood straight and let out a nervous smile as the doctor approached.

"Hermione," Dr. Kelley said. "What are you doing?"

"What? This?" Hermione raised her hand, the one she had intended to use for a good thump on a sneering face of Malfoy. "It's just a game. We're friends; this is the kind of game we've been playing since we're kids."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"HM." Dr. Kelley turned to Draco. "How are you?"

Draco arched his eyebrow. "Who are _you_?"

Dr. Kelley held out his right hand, waiting for Draco to shake it. "I am Sean Kelley." Draco did not move at all. The Doctor pulled his hand back. "I was the one who performed your surgery."

"Muggle Doctor," Draco said.

Dr. Kelley frowned. "Excuse me?"

"He said 'Mighty Doctor'," Hermione reached out and held Draco's arm, squeezing it in a death grip.

"Yeah, yeah…" Draco cursed when her nails dug deeper into his skin. "I mean, yes, mighty. Tch." She released his arm.

"So… you two are friends?" The Doctor crossed his arms.

Hermione nodded while Draco fixed his gaze at an empty corner. There was no one in the hospital that did not know about Sean Kelley. He was one of the best surgeons in the medical field. She was hoping to be like him.

"Well…" Dr. Kelley said, "I think it's time for you, John Doe, to mention your real name and address. We need to contact your family today."

Draco grimaced. "John Doe?"

"That was what we call every unknown man." Dr. Kelley stared, waiting.

"I am an orphan, my name's Draco," Draco said at last. Hermione turned to him in surprise. "And she…" He pointed to her. "Is my only relatives."

"What?" Hermione gasped.

"A friend can't be listed as your relatives." Dr. Kelley said.

Draco licked his bottom lip. "That's what she always said who we are: friends. We had slept under the same roof for six years, you know." Of course, the doctor had no idea about Hogwarts. Draco did not lie.

Dr. Kelley turned to Hermione who struggled to put up a quick response. Yet she could not form anything that would not reveal her previous life. The Doctor put his hands inside his pocket.

"Well… if that's the case, I think we can list your girlfriend as a relative. I'll tell the admin to come to do your administration later."

Hermione shook her head. "No! I am not—"

"I'm going to be late for next surgery." The doctor ignored her. "I'll see you again tomorrow. Have a good rest." He turned away and strode out from Draco's room, leaving Hermione who waved her hands frantically.

Draco watched Hermione clutch her head in horror, snorting when she let out a pitiful groan. "Wow… you sure have a nice way of expressing yourself."

Hermione glared at him. "You are one big fat—"

"A-ah." Draco lifted his index finger. "I am not big and certainly not fat. I didn't lie about us."

"You're just saying you're an orphan!"

"In the Muggle world, I don't even exist." Draco sneered. "But you are. You're quite well known in here."

A chill crept up Hermione's back.

"Mudblood," Draco said. "If you tell them who I am, I will have to tell them who you are."

If anyone told her that this day would come, the day when she met her childhood enemy again, and he would threaten her like this, Hermione might never believe it.

"You…" She gritted her teeth. "Did you just blackmail me?"

Draco showed his white straight teeth. "What do you think, Mudblood?"

* * *

"Hey, Jean! There you are!"

Hermione looked up from her table. She had been sitting inside the class since early morning and taking notes of the lecture. This class was not even in her schedule, but doing it wasn't new to her. She had been doing this since she entered the college. At first, some professors wondered about her extraordinary enthusiasm to learn, but then they decided to let her do what she wanted.

The classroom was empty when Eve and Victor ambled towards her. Hermione nodded in greeting, turning back to her writing. The two had been her friends since they had taken their first class together. Eve Francesca was a blonde girl with blue eyes, while her boyfriend Victor White had a brown hair and eyes. He wore a pair of turtle square-framed glasses, often reminding Hermione to Harry.

Eve sat next to her. "You've been early again today. Don't you have anything better to do than listening to another class's lecture?"

The girl in question shrugged, continuing to fill her notes.

Victor sat next to Eve. Unlike his bubbly American girlfriend, he did not talk much. He was smart, scoring a second rank in their class. Of course, Hermione was the first.

Eve moved her head, leaning her chin against Hermione's shoulder. "Want to go together later? Vick wants to treat us in his dad's café."

"Okay." Hermione still hadn't looked up. "Later."

"We don't have another class before three today, right?" Eve asked. Victor shook his head. "Great! So… let's go now!"

Hermione shook her head. "I can't. There is another class coming after this. I can't miss the next lesson."

"What?" Eve sulked. Hermione's cell phone rang. "Jean… you're not even listed in those classes!"

"Wait a minute." Hermione drew her mobile phone. S_t. Mary Hospital. _She answered the call.

"Jean," a familiar voice said. It was the receptionist she often met in her volunteer work. "Dr. Kelley wants you to come here as soon as possible. We need you to sign in for your boyfriend's surgery."

"My b—" Hermione glanced at Eve and Victor who were listening. She tried to apply vague statement so that her friends would not be curious. "That person needs another of those? Why did you call me?"

"You're his only relatives, Jean," the receptionist said. "How soon can you come here?"

Hermione smacked her forehead in annoyance, sighing. "Like—right now?"

"Great. Dr. Kelley will be waiting for you. Good morning, Jean."

"Morning." Hermione ended the call, sliding the phone back into her pocket. She collected her study materials and shoved it inside her bag before standing up. "Sorry, I have to go now."

"Something happened?" Eve stood up as well; curiosity in her eyes.

"Yeah, family issue." Hermione combed her hair with her fingers. "I'll come back as soon as I can. I'll meet you at your dad's café, is that okay Vick?"

Victor nodded.

Waving to them, she left the classroom.

_So now I _am_ responsible for the ferret? Great. Just great. If by another surgery he can walk again and leave the hospital–and my life—I will sign for him. Maybe I can ask the doctor not to give him anaesthetics. I can try to convince Dr. Kelley that he cannot wake up if he injects him… No, wait. The doctor knew better, he had performed on him. _

_Oh, I will tell the nurse that he has this extreme allergic reaction to all meat, tofu, egg, sugar and rice. At least he will not eat anything good._

_...Hermione, that is so low. And lame._

Hermione sighed.

* * *

Half an hour later, Hermione was standing in front of Sean Kelley's office. She checked her appearance before rapping on the door.

"Come in."

Hermione entered, nodding to the doctor. He sat behind his desk, motioning her to sit on the chair in front of him.

"I just have to sign the paper…" Hermione sat. "There is nothing else I have to do, right? I have another appointment. I can't stay during his surgery."

Dr. Kelley studied her, his face emotionless.

"Hermione," he said. "I have something to tell you."

* * *

She was standing in the hospital hallway, arms crossed, gaze fixed to the door. He was supposed to appear right about… now.

He showed up on time, showing annoyance and disgust as the nurse pushed the bed he was laying on. Draco gazed at the ceiling, counting on the lamp he was passing, one by one. When the bed halted near the girl, he turned to her.

"I've signed for your surgery." Hermione stared back at him. "I have to go now."

Draco waved his hand. "Just go. No one asked you to stay."

Hermione kept her stare at him, making the man wondered.

"Keep him alive," she said to the nurses. "I don't care if you cut his leg or his hand. Just keep him alive."

"Hey!" Draco said. The nurses chuckled. "What was that?"

Hermione ignored him, moving away. The conversation with Dr. Kelley filled her mind.

* * *

"Hermione, I have something to tell you."

She swallowed. _Oh no._ "I really don't know what he was talking about, Doctor."

The man stared at her. "…What?"

"The whole Muggle-thing he was talking about." She shifted in her chair. "I really don't know why he called you a Muggle. Or any other nurses as Muggles. I can only think that he had lost his—"

"Hermione." Dr. Kelley held up his hand, stopping her. "It's not about that."

"It's not?"

"Listen," Dr. Kelley faltered, thinking about what he should say, and decided to hand her the folder instead. "I think you'll understand. You've learned this."

She flipped the folder open, taking one of the files. Looking at the area circled by a marker, she frowned. Comprehending the problem, she sighed and slid the file back in the folder.

"Spinal cord injury…" she whispered, more to herself.

_Partial spinal cord injury. Lower area. Nerve fibres damage. Not a real spinal cord damage—lumbar vertebra.… _

Dr. Kelley studied her impassive face. He knew she understood. He had never seen a girlfriend who was so composed after they found out about their boyfriends' conditions.

Hermione knew what this indicated. It may be possible for him to walk again, but the process took a few more surgeries and more than a year in aggressive physical rehabilitation. It would be hard for anyone involved. Most often, the patient was so devastated they gave up walking altogether.

She could not stay with Draco for years, helping him to walk again when she had a lot to do herself. This was insane.

_What did I sign up for?_

Hermione closed the folder before turning to the Doctor, handing the folder back. " Where is the form?"

Dr. Kelley arched his brow. This girl was too calm. "Don't you want to talk about it?"

"Maybe later." Hermione did not want to talk about Draco, ever. It was hard enough pretending to be his girlfriend. She did not want to be a part of this. She had to find out another cure, rather than depending on Muggle medical skill. The one that could cure him as fast as possible.

Her brows furrowed. No Muggle ability…

_That means wizardry?_

* * *

She peeked into the room, looking for her friends. When Eve and Victor noticed her, they waved. She smiled, pacing into the café. The owner of the café painted the wall in pastel colour. The light dimmed for a romantic scene, black wood was the main material for the furniture. The tables draped in soft orange cloth, a candle was set in the centre of each. When Hermione walked to her friends and pulled a chair for herself, she smelled a faint vanilla scent from the aromatic candle lit in the centre of their table.

"Your 'family thing'..." Eve supported her chin against her palm, elbow against the table, looking at Hermione with curiosity. "Is it done?"

"Pretty much." Hermione draped her brown coat against the armrest. "So, what's wrong?" She clasped her hand on top of the table, smiling at her two friends.

"Pretty much nothing happened. Boring." Eve huffed, crossing her arms. "Oh yeah, _finally_, my mom opened her craft shop."

"Oh?" Hermione accepted the menu from the waiter. "It sounds nice. I'll visit sometime."

"It's nearby, just a few blocks away from here," Eve said. "We need more workers, someone to supply us with candles and key rings. You want to do it? The pay isn't much but it's better than nothing."

"Hmm…" Hermione did not need additional income. She rarely spent her money for anything other than books and tools. "I'll think about it."

"We also need more waiters," Victor said. "We don't have a lot of customers, but somehow my dad said he needs more people."

"I can't have a part-time job. My free time is limited as it is." Ordering a cup of tea, Hermione spun the gear in her brain, filled with plans to cure Draco.

_Wizardry… I need a potion that will cure him. Fixing injured spine…_

She stayed quiet in her seat, even when Eve and Victor went into a weird debate about 'which professor wears a wig' and 'why did Professor Anna wear so many layers of foundation, it became her second layer of skin'.

_Probably I should get back to the hospital after my class. I need to talk to Draco._

She pretended to listen when Eve babbled about some apparitions on the big hall after eleven at night. Victor countered, saying that he would leave a tape overnight in one of the chairs to prove the rumour wrong.

_I cannot be stuck with him. I am busy; I cannot deal with Draco. I do not care if I look mean. I will contact his parents and ask them to pick him up. They can handle their son better than me._

* * *

"I don't understand! Why did you do that?" the man shouted.

They were standing in the road pavement. It was midnight; the streets were empty. Sometimes, a car or two passed by, lights from the vehicles illuminated the dark avenue.

He frowned, staring at the man in confusion. "Do what?"

"You took her from me!"

"I did not!" he said. "She's not your girlfriend. I don't understand why you decide to confront me now, after all this time. You can get your chance before I did." He shook his head. "It's not my fault she chose me. I don't even know you like her."

"You should know!" The man dashed to him, shoving him backwards with a brute force. "You should know!"

"I didn't!" He stepped back, avoiding the enraged man. "I didn't know, okay!" He sighed. "Listen, just forget about it. She's my girlfriend now. You've lost your chance a long time ago." He turned around.

He never saw it coming, but he felt it; the man shoved him to the road.

He tumbled into the hard pavement, face landing first. Gritting his teeth in anger, he turned around to yell at his aggressor. When he looked at him, he saw the man's face turn pale. He turned around.

Two bright lights dashed towards him. The lights were coming too fast.

When the car crashed against his body, he whispered her name.

_Astoria..._

He gasped, eyes snapped open.

Collecting his breath, he glanced around the room. He was lying in his hospital bed. Hermione sat on a single chair, a book spread open on her lap. Her coat lay against the armrest.

She stared at him. "Are you okay?"

"Perfect." He leaned his head back to the pillow. "Just—perfect."

Hermione frowned. "Do you need anything?"

"No." He covered his face. "I'm fine."

Hermione closed her book, leaning down to slide the book in her bag that rested below her chair, standing up and strolling to his side. "I think it is time for you to call your parents."

Draco peeked at her from the gap between his fingers. "No."

"Call them." Hermione put her hand on her hip. "Just call them. I cannot babysit you all the time."

"No!" he shouted, dropping his hand from his face. "I didn't ask you to babysit me!"

"You don't?" Hermione arched her brow. "Then explain to me: how will you compensate me for taking care of you for years to come?" She saw his surprised expression. "You had no idea, didn't you?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You won't be able to walk away from here in just a week, Malfoy." She noticed his frown. "Do you really think that after the blow your body had suffered, you will be normal right away?"

"Where is the chocolate?"

"...Excuse me?"

"Where is the chocolate?" Draco's face was serious. "All you Muggles did was cutting me open, gluing something inside me. If I eat the chocolate I'll get better right away."

"The chocolate…" Hermione let out a tired snarl. "Draco, this is not Hogwarts. There is no chocolate that can fix injured spine."

"So then what is it?" Draco threw up his hand in the air, exasperated. "Tell me your 'Muggle thing' that can make me walk again!"

"It's called _surgery,_" Hermione emphasized the word. "You can choose between cell transplant, electric stimulant, gene therapy, special medicine or physical rehabilitation. You will _work hard_ to walk."

"Work hard?" he growled. "Why should I work hard for something I can do since I was a baby?"

"Because you were standing in the middle of the road when a car passed by," she said.

He narrowed his eyes, saying nothing.

"It will take more than a year," Hermione said. "I don't have that time for you." She snatched the wireless phone from the counter beside the desk, shoving it to his hand. "Call your parents. Or I'll do it."

Draco grabbed the phone, chucking it to the wall.

The phone shattered.

Hermione grumbled. "Nice try. I'll go to your house then." She turned around, ready to take her coat and left when Draco shouted.

"I can't let them see me like _this_!"

She turned to face him, crossing her arms. "Why can't you?"

Draco glared, but she didn't seem fazed. Closing his eyes, he whispered, "Because then I won't be their perfect son anymore."

After minutes of silence, she whispered soothing words that she had never thought she would say to him, "They love you. They won't think like that. No parents will reject their child just because he is not—"

"Look at me!" Draco pointed at himself. "I can't even move my own body…" He waved to his feet. "I will need assistance anywhere I go, for anything I do." He choked. "What makes you think my father will accept me?"

Hermione bit her lip. She knew how arrogant and prideful Lucius was, but she also believed that the man would do anything for his son. Then she saw Draco's face. He hunched, refusing to meet her gaze. He was ashamed with his own condition. He didn't want to meet his parents like this.

She looked away. "I'll come back tomorrow. Have a good rest." Grabbing her coat and bag, she walked out of the room.

—

* * *

_Hm—Not this one…_

She lay on the sofa, flipping through the pages of her research book. The night in her small flat was always peaceful. Hermione had no interest in music or television shows. She preferred to lie on her comfortable sofa, reading her medical books.

Her eyes scanned the articles further.

_January fourteen… A mouse is walking again after spinal cord injury in eight weeks._ _The mice walked more slowly and less confidently than before their injury, but still recovered mobility. Recovery may depend on nerve cells within the spinal cord, having the time to reorganize and form a sort of bypass around the injured area._

…_I wish Draco is a rat. _

Hermione turned to the door as she heard a rapping sound. "Yes? Who is it?"

"Hermione," a male sound echoed. "It's me."

She blinked, staring at the door. Then, she put her book aside and scrambled to open the door.

He leaned on the doorframe, showing his funny smirk. "Hey, how are you?"

She smiled, opening her arms and taking the tall redhead into a warm hug. "Hello, Ron."

—

* * *

"What are you doing here?" she asked with a faint smile, giving him a warm cup of coffee.

He accepted the cup she gave to him with both of his cold hands, wrapping his fingers around it and absorbing the warmth from the newly poured coffee. He had been climbing the stairs to her floor, wondering why she kept living in a place with a broken elevator. He had waited outside that inert elevator on the ground floor for half an hour, thinking that the Muggle transport was sluggish and slow, before he realized that the elevator was dead. He had considered to Apparate straight into her room. However, he could not raise himself up from death if she was startled and accidentally shot him with a Muggle weapon. He had watched too many Muggle films and thought she was holstering the deadly gun inside her coat, like everyone in that film titled 'Matrix-something' starred by several pale men in black.

"Just visiting," Ron said, watching her crossing the small living room with a measured pace.

He used to contact her every month, but they never met each other since a year ago, when the Ministry ordered Ron to investigate some wizarding issue. He had to stay low.

She dressed in a white long pullover and thick crème-coloured pants. Hermione was pale and her hair was still bushy, although now it looked better, tucked in her well-kept ponytail. He wondered if it had something to do with Muggle technique, frowning when he saw her pacing around.

"Something happened?"

"Huh?" She stopped, staring at him. "Um... No, just—" She mumbled, approaching and sitting next to him. "It's been some time since I last saw you."

"Yeah, it has."

Ron sipped the coffee. He was dressed in a brown long sleeved shirt and black pants, his red long coat lay on the armchair and long grey scarf cuddled his neck, providing warmth. When he joined the Ministry, he had decided to stop wearing his old 'family clothes' that had been passed down to him. Those looked more like a worn out washcloth than a standard work suit. Now, he had money to buy his own garments and enjoyed every part of it.

"I just want to know how you're doing. You look well." _You are too thin_, he thought. It seemed like she had lost a significant amount of weight since he last met her.

"Yes, I'm well." Hermione crossed her arms. Ron watched her arms and noted that his judgment were accurate. Her wrist and hands were scrawny, skin wrapping the bones without any layer of fat. She ought to have worked too hard and skipped her meal. "How is your family?"

"They're fine. Mom said you're visiting them once a month, is that true?" Ron watched her nod. "Thank you. They said hello."

He scanned the room. He knew the heater was broken, since he did not feel warmer in here. The living room connected to an open kitchen, where he saw a coffee machine and a microwave lay on a counter. A medium sized fridge standing next to it, a lot of papers pinned on the door. He only managed to catch some words like 'St. Mary hospital', 'class one seven thirty' and the rest was unintelligible. Must be some Muggle medical terms, since he had no clue how to translate sentences like, 'DM brok spin met Thurs, surg up met w/ dr kel'. It was out of his world. A television was facing the sofa, from the looks of it and lack of remote control nearby, it was of no use to her. Perhaps their meeting was even more frequent than her switching it on. The sandy-earth coloured sofa was comfortable, snug and squishy, he felt like drowning in it once he sat on it. A coffee table was resting in front of the couch, in a calculated range to grab everything placed on top of it while napping.

He rested the cup on the coffee table, before noting several thick books stacked on it. He tilted his head and read the titles in one of the books: 'Spinal Cord Injuries and Varieties of Treatment'. She must have been studying for her classes before he showed up.

"Actually, Herms," Ron said. "I've been thinking. Would you like to go with me this weekend?"

"Where to?"

"Um—" Ron scratched his head. "We'll just have dinner and maybe watch a Muggle movie. You need a break."

A smile formed on her lips. "You're asking me out on a date?"

"If you can't, it is fine then." Embarrassed, Ron looked away. It was weird how he felt awkward doing this. "I just thought we should catch up with some news, since we haven't seen each other for a while."

"Okay."

He turned to her. "Okay?" he repeated.

"Alright, I have nothing to do on the weekend." Hermione had already rearranged her To-Do list inside her massive mind-library. "Do you want to go on Saturday or Sunday?"

"Sunday," Ron said. "You have nothing to do on that day?"

"No," she said without a doubt.

"Great, I'll get you at seven," Ron said, looking at his watch and sighing. "I have to go back now; I have something else to do."

"Oh, okay." Hermione was in no hurry to stand up, handing him his coat.

Ron was wearing his coat as he ambled to the door, turning to Hermione who followed and opened the door for him. "I'm sorry it's a quick visit, I hope we can talk more on Sunday." He ended the conversation by taking the girl in a strong hug. "Bye, Herms."

Hermione locked the door after Ron left. Then she turned around, wide grin adorned her face. For a quarter of hour, the matter of Malfoy was simply forgotten as she started choosing the clothes for Sunday and circling the date on the calendar.

She had never had a date after she went into college. In addition, with Ron, which meant it would be fun. She would have to straighten her hair again sometime this week.

After the euphoria had passed, she realized her books were waiting for her. Hermione sighed and returned to her research. At least she now had something to look onward to, besides babysitting Malfoy.

Perhaps this week was not that bad.

—

-x-

Major correction: When you had Malfoy around, your life would _always_ go bad.

It was late morning. The day was beautiful. It was supposed to be, white and pure snows had filled the road overnight, giving the serene feeling, sharing simple contentment as people travelled through it to start their day. It was supposed to be a beautiful day for everyone, including Hermione.

She stared at the paper. There was something missing from her calculation. She had never expected it to be this.

Standing in front of the receptionist counter, she let her hollow mood affecting her pose. Eyes staring at the paper she held, her body slouched. She tried blinking and even closing her eyes for a minute before fluttering it open, wishing it was a dream.

She was still standing there.

In the end, she decided to accept her fate. Hermione looked up, whispering in hesitation to the receptionist who watched her intently, "Is this correct?"

"Yes."

"You're not typing it wrong?"

"No, we're not, Jean."

"This." Hermione turned the paper towards the receptionist. "There are three—three—"

The receptionist traced the numbers with her finger. "Three zero behind that number, yes." She was worried at Granger's pale face. "Are you okay?"

Hermione turned the paper back, reading it with a rigid stare. She could not believe this. It must be some kind of mistake.

It was his hospital bill. She had to pay seven thousand pounds for Draco.

"I—" Hermione faltered, "I have to go home now. I'll—um, pay it as soon as I can."

"Are you sure? I mean, don't you want to see your boyfriend before leaving?"

If she saw him right now, she might end up hurting him out of temper and the cost would be higher. Hermione shook her head. "No, thanks. I have other things to do."

She folded the paper and slid it inside her coat pocket, lumbering out of the hospital.

Before the receptionist saw her walking to the elevator and called her, Hermione had planned to meet Draco and tell him that she concurred to help. However, she faced the hard truth. Helping a penniless wizard meant that she had to pay for him.

Now this was the fact: she didn't have that much money. She counted the money she had, in her bank account, her purse and even some changes in her pocket. She still needed at least five hundred pounds. If she gave all her money for his bill, she could never pay for her own. She would starve for a month. She couldn't ask her parents for money, they would be curious. She had never asked for more allowance than what she attained. She couldn't ask for her Hogwarts' friends help, she knew they would be marching down to the hospital at once, with various assassination plots in their furious mind.

Even if she had the money for his hospital cost, if Malfoy continued to stay in the hospital and acquire those expensive therapies and surgeries, she would pay a hefty price. Hermione groaned, knowing the wisest thing to do was to call his parents and tell them the truth. Nevertheless, she had promised herself to help him. Hermione had never been the one to back down on her pledge. She cupped her head in agony, facing her throbbing migraine. She crouched down on the street, hands wrapped around her aching head, wishing she had never come to her volunteer work.

—

Eve was reading a comic when she heard someone knocking on her door. She rested in the dinner chair behind a table, her hand was holding the book, another clutched her warm cup of tea. It was mid afternoon and she had no class, no date with Victor and no other important activity. The comic itself was as boring as it could get; a wide-eyed girl was bullied because she was pretty and the main hero fell in love with her at the first sight. There were even some cliché that the handsome hero uttered to his girl, making her blush (it was a well-drawn blush with several cross lines marking her nose). She wondered why the editor classified this book as comic instead of manga, but she kept reading it anyway.

"Who is it?" Eve stood up, leaving her tea and the comic book.

"It's me, Hermione," the guest said.

Eve smiled when she opened the door. "Hey! What's up? Come on in!" she said, allowing the girl in. Hermione dressed in her usual long brown coat, sporting a bloated backpack. She blew warm air to her cold gloveless hands.

"I see your heater works well."

"Why? Are yours broken or something?" Eve chuckled. "Want anything to drink? I got no coffee, though. You want some tea?"

"No, no." Hermione waved her hands. "I can't stay long."

"Oh." Eve looked dejected. "I was thinking if we can chat or something…"

"I'm sorry." Hermione set her backpack on the floor and crouched down, zipping it open. "If I remember correctly, you've said you want my clothes and you'll pay hundreds for it…"

Eve frowned, crouching and watching her friends pulling out several clothes. She accepted some clothes Hermione handed and inspected it.

"…Are you sure? I mean, these are your favourites." She held the clothes to her chest and stood up, checking if the clothes look good on her. Hermione finished pulling all of her clothes from her backpack, setting it on the floor and looking at Eve.

"Yeah, I need some money to—" She grimaced. "—Uh, buy some books."

"If you need money, I'll lend it to you." Eve crouched. "You don't have to do this. How much do you need?"

"It's okay. I don't feel good about borrowing money. It's not as I really need many clothes," she mumbled. "I bring …" Hermione looked down to her merchandise. "Ten set. How much will you give me for this?"

"Hmm…" Eve sat on the floor. "Let's see. How much do you need?"

"Four to five hundred." Hermione flinched when she saw Eve's surprised look. Her friend must have realized it was not for a book.

"Wow. That's a lot of books," Eve said, overlooking the matter. "I'll give you four hundred then." She pointed to the brown coat Hermione wore. "I'll pay another one hundred if you give me that coat, I always like it."

Hermione looked down to her favourite coat, the _only_ coat she had. Biting her lips in deference, she stood up and slid out from her coat before giving it to Eve. The blonde girl grinned, sliding herself inside the coat and turning around.

"Hey, it's really smooth and warm!" Eve said. "Okay, I'll get my purse. Wait here."

Hermione watched Eve and her—Eve's coat disappeared from her sight as she skipped into her bedroom. The brown-haired girl crossed her arms in gloom and thought to herself as she waited, that Malfoy _would have to_ pay her back, every cent of it.

She had no idea how a crippled man who couldn't even move by himself could pay her seven thousand pounds, but she would find a way.

—x—

His fingers waved in the air, tracing an imaginary art on the white ceiling. Bored was not even the right word to describe how he felt today. It was Thursday, and he waited for her to walk in with an annoyed expression on her face. He would then tease her and wait for her to lose her patience. She would yell and hit him.

At least it would be better than doing nothing.

Draco sighed, glancing at the wall clock. Eight at night and she had not showed up? What was wrong?

She used to come every day, until last Tuesday. He had waited forever and she never showed up. From the nurses, Draco heard that she was a med-student. He couldn't hope for her to come every day, they said. However, without Hermione to insult, Draco had nothing else to do. Dr. Kelley had been checking on his condition every day, commenting on some therapies he had to take and several varieties of surgeries that could bring him back to normal. Draco listened half-heartedly, refusing to talk to his surgeon. The Doctor always trumped out from his room with a sigh.

He turned his eyes to the door. The person he was waiting for finally walked in.

Nevertheless, there was something different. She was dressed in a thick red sweater and black pants, without her signature brown coat. Her face was stern as she paced to his bed.

"We're leaving," she said. "I'll take you home."

-x-

**_To be continued_**


	3. First Night

**Part 3**

**First Night**

-x—

She saw him stunned speechless. He gazed at her, wondering if she had lost her mind. The girl returned the stare.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "I'm not going home with you."

"Yes, you are."

The blond man snorted, gazing back to the ceiling. "I'm not going to live with a Mudblood. No way."

Hermione shifted her weight to her right foot and placed her hand on her hip. "Look around you, Malfoy."

He raised one of his brows, feeling amused. "I know where I am now, Mudblood. I've stayed here for more than a week."

"Does it ever occur to you who have to pay for all this?"

Draco frowned. He'd never thought about it. Why did it matter now anyway?

"I'm the one who paid for your bills, Malfoy. I don't have money to pay for it anymore. Unless we leave right now, I'll be charged for another night."

"I don't know you're that poor." The man was hardly cared that he was in her debt. "So what if we got charged for another night? When I get better, I will pay for it."

"Nice," Hermione hissed. Draco wouldn't care even one bit. "So I'll call your father now and ask him to pay me back. He'll be the one who takes care of you."

She made a move to grab the phone. It was new, replacing the one he had destroyed. No wonder the hospital cost was so expensive. She wondered what else he'd ruined in his nine days of living in this place.

"What? No! What are you doing?" he drawled, grabbing her hand.

Narrowing her eyes, she shook his hand away. "If you still want my help, Ferret, you'll follow my orders."

"Wha—" Draco growled. "Ferret? Who are you calling Ferret?"

"Listen. You can either follow me home, or I'll leave you here and you'll get kicked out when they realized you don't have anyone else willing to pay for your bills."

"You can't just leave me!" Draco shouted. "I'll tell them who you are!"

"And I just have to tell them that we break up," she returned. "You really think they will believe your wizard theory?"

Considering his situation, Draco bit the inside of his cheek. He couldn't risk letting out another one of his mockery and enrage the girl.

"I won't be able to pay for anything else for you. Not even for a cab, Draco. I'm that broke. I certainly can't pay for a wheelchair."

"A what?"

"A wheelchair. With that you can wheel yourself anywhere you want."

"What is that for?" the man wondered aloud. "I can just Apparate."

Hermione shook her head. "You will not use my wand or potions for anything," she said. "In fact, you'll never touch it."

"But I am a wizard!" he said, pointing his index finger at her. "You're a witch!"

"That's not a nice thing to say to her," echoed someone behind Hermione. She whirled to see Dr. Kelley leant against the door. He didn't look happy when he said to her, "Can we talk?"

"Um…" Hermione intoned. "Sure." She tailed the Doctor out.

Sean moved to the hallway, gesturing to the door, asking her to close it. Draco tilted his head, trying to see what was going on outside, pouting when the door closed on him.

"I understand when you said you can't pay for the hospital expense anymore." The Doctor leaned his back against the wall, staring at the blank white wall. "What I don't get is… how are you going to support your life together?"

"I…" Hermione gazed down. "I'll think of something."

"This wasn't a research, Hermione. That man needs a full-time attention, surgery and therapy. Without it, he will never walk again. You are not ready to take care of him."

Hermione bit her bottom lip, her fingers intertwining. She couldn't possibly tell the Doctor about what she had planned for Malfoy. No, there was no way a normal Muggle would understand the concept of wizardry. She looked up, her eyes meeting Sean's. No one would, especially this special Muggle, who had science written all over his face.

"I know he's your boyfriend. It doesn't mean you're responsible for his life. You do have to take care of him when he has no one else, but I'm not saying you have to dedicate your whole life to a crippled man."

She mumbled a small 'huh'. "You're saying I have to dump him?"

The Doctor brought his eyes back to the wall. "If there is no other way, yes."

"But… I thought our job is to take care of a patient?" Now it didn't make sense. Did her idol just tell her to ditch a crippled man?

"It's a job, Hermione." The man crossed his arms. "Job and personal life are two different worlds. You may do everything in your ability to help the man if he is your patient."

"But if he's not…That means I don't have to try?"

Dr. Kelley frowned, looking up to the ceiling. "Don't see it like that." He counted how many lamps hanging in the hallway. "If you take him home, you will ruin your future, your school and your life."

"I won't." She was disappointed with his words. "I won't ruin anything. I know how to handle a lot of things at once."

"Maybe you do. But you've never handled a crippled person along with it."

Pouting at him, Hermione shook her head. "This is my decision, Doctor. I intended to take him home, and I will."

He didn't look surprised. "Of course you will."

The girl raised her brow in question.

"My shift is over," the man said changing the subject. "Give me your hand." Sticking her hand out, Hermione accepted a car key he placed in her palm. "Take out my car. I'll change my clothes first, and then I'll bring your boyfriend out with me. I'll drive you two home."

Her eyes widened. "No! You don't have to—"

"Just do it, Hermione." The doctor pushed himself off the wall he leaned on, turned around and left the girl in the hallway.

Hermione clutched the key in her hand, staring at Draco's door before sighing and striding away.

-x-

—

"I intended to take him home, and I will," he reiterated her words with an irritated tone. "Yeah, of course you will."

Sighing, Sean Kelley snapped open his locker and pulled out his casual clothes. He set the clothes on the long bench placed behind him and started removing his white coat.

"Why do kids nowadays act like they know it all?" he asked himself bitterly. He had, of course, looking around the locker room and making sure there was no one in there but him before he started mumbling. "They think they know what they will face, even before they experience it."

Rolling his eyes at his own statement, he folded his coat, placing it into the locker before unbuttoning his blue shirt.

"Why do I care anyway?" he grumbled. Yeah, why did he care? He had a lot to do himself. Once he got home he would have to feed his cat, water his plants and, in the end of the night, sitting in front of the fireplace, drinking a glass of red wine before going to bed. By himself.

Letting out a sad sigh, the half-naked man rested his forehead against the locker. He had nothing to do. After he'd obtained everything he wanted in his thirty-one years of life, Sean Kelley hardly found anything entertaining anymore.

Hermione Granger was interesting.

He pulled his duffel bag out of his locker and stuffed his shirt inside before plopping it down on the floor, reaching to the turtleneck green sweater placed on the bench.

She was not the cutest girl he ever saw. She _was_ the brightest. He knew she adored him. Not being arrogant, but Sean Kelley always knew who had a crush on him since he was five. It wasn't very hard to see a sparkle in her eyes. She might not like him that way, but he thought she would hear him out.

"Apparently not." The man pulled the sweater down. "A crippled man as a boyfriend… Great." He knew she would get in trouble eventually, if she took that man home. He had no doubt that she would fail her school if she had to cater all his needs.

After he locked his locker, he bent down zipping his duffel bag close before carrying it out of the room.

"What did a girl see in that kind of guy anyway?"

Yes, he held a grudge. It was a logical grudge.

"…Can I call anything a logical grudge?" Sean inquired to himself before realizing that he was now in public. Smiling to the nurses, he asked them, "Could anyone please snatch a wheelchair for me?"

He sighed when they left running tussling against each other to do his order. Sometimes he wanted to be a normal Sean Kelley, not the surgeon Doctor Sean Kelley. His eyes were twinkling with amusement when he remembered one woman that was stubborn enough to reject his suggestion. Yes, she saw him as a normal man. His lips pouted when he realized that the woman he took an interest to apparently have a boyfriend. The type of man he didn't want himself to be; a leech and a nasty man.

He gave the nurses his bright smile when they appeared with the wheelchair. After uttering a placid thank you, he turned and pushed the chair to Draco Malfoy's room.

What kind of name was that anyway? What kind of parents in their right mind would give their kid a name that meant dragon and bad faith? It was a sign of how the kid would turn out to be. Indeed, in Sean's mind Draco Malfoy was not more than a leech who would stop at nothing before sucking out all of his girlfriend's life.

He opened the door without knocking, holding his evil thoughts that seduced him to push Malfoy off the bed. If he did that, Hermione would have to pay for another injury. No matter how much he hated this one-of-a-kind leech, he was a doctor.

There was a lot more ways to make sure Malfoy-boy stop leeching on Hermione. He was planning on one of it as he pushed the chair next to his bed.

"So," the Doctor said, "ready to go?"

Draco glanced at the wheelchair. "What is that?"

"A wheelchair. I'll take you out."

"Where's Mudblood?"

"…Pardon?"

"Ah." The leech shook his head. "I mean, Herm…Hermi-o…ack! My girlfriend. Where is she?"

Sean's brow shot up in surprise. He called his girlfriend Mudblood? That was so… so—

Shaking his head to get rid of bad thoughts, Sean answered, "She's getting my car. Come on, I'll help you."

Draco raised one of his hands, stopping the Doctor from his purpose of making this task as hellish as feasible.

Sean cursed._ Did he notice?_

"She didn't have money to acquire that," Draco said, waving to the chair. "I'm sorry but I have to decline your offer. We can't purchase this."

"Huh?" Sean shot him a blank look. Then, he understood. "Um, no... I'm not trying to sell this to you or forcing you to buy this. I just need this to take you out."

"Are you sure?" the leech said. "How many do we have to pay for the service?"

"Nothing. Just get on."

At last, Draco let the doctor carried him from the bed and placed him on the chair. Sean had intended to make the process hurt for a bit but now he wasn't so sure anymore. The leech sounded intelligent when he spoke.

Sean frowned as he asked the man, "Do you have anything you want to carry from this room?"

Draco shook his head. "No. Everything isn't mine." He stopped and thought aloud, "I do want my real clothes, the one I used when…"

"I'm sorry, that one was too bloody and ripped to shreds. We have to cut it from your body. We found nothing to identify you, too, so I don't think the hospital has your purse."

"My wand?"

"Your what?"

"A stick." Draco's hands measured an imaginary wand to show the Doctor the length. "A wooden stick I pocketed."

"Oh, that one? We thought it was a piece of wood from a nearby tree." Sean pushed Draco out of the room. "It actually ran through your thigh. It was the one we had to pull out from your right knee."

Draco stared down at his stitched right knee. "Where is it now?"

"We threw it away too."

Draco cursed, throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation. "You Muggles throw anything that belongs to me!"

"What is Muggles?" the Doctor asked. Draco suddenly grew quiet. "Draco? What is Muggles? You called me Muggle Doctor…"

"What do you think?"

"I can't help but think it is some sort of ugly nicknames."

"Well it is. Why am I talking to you anyway? Just push this thing faster!"

Sean rolled his eyes.

As he drove Draco out of the hospital, he saw Hermione. She was waiting in front of his parked car. Her eyes met her boyfriend, but the eye contact disappeared as soon as it started, making the silent observer frowned.

She opened the back door when they arrived. "I think I'll help him to sit in there…"

"No, I'll do it." The Doctor bent down, transferring Draco into the back seat with ease. Hermione pushed the wheelchair away from the car.

Draco moved his head to the wheelchair Hermione push away, only to find his nose collided with the door Sean closed right on his face. Cursing and bending down, he muttered several 'Crucio' to the Doctor. Oh, if only he had his wand now!

"Are you sure you don't want to take that, Hermione?" Sean asked, pacing to her side as she pushed the wheelchair back inside the hospital.

"No. I can't pay for it."

"I'll pay."

"That's very nice of you. But no, you've done too much for Draco."

_For him? _Sean thought, _yeah, right._

"Just leave it there," he said. Hermione left the wheelchair beside the receptionist counter. "Let's go," he said as she turned to him.

The girl followed him out. Together, they ambled to the car.

"I still think this is wrong." The doctor pulled out his purse. "Of course this is your choice, but… if there is anything you need, don't hesitate to call me."

Accepting a piece of card he offered, Hermione read the number written on it. "This wasn't your office number…"

"It's my home number, and that one," said Dr. Kelley, pointing to the second number and address, "is my cell phone and home address."

"Wow… You don't have to do this."

"I want to." Dr. Kelley opened up the passenger's door to Hermione before circling to the driver's door. After sitting in his seat and making sure the leech had seated properly in the back, the man started the engine.

Hermione glanced to her 'boyfriend', wondering why Draco shot the Doctor an angry glare. She turned her head back to the front window as the car started to move.

-x-

—

It was days since he saw the night in the Muggle world.

Resting his temple to the window, Draco took every detail of his surroundings. The streetlights illuminated the streets they were passing through. If he glanced up to the buildings they had passed, he would see lights beamed from within. Some stores looked bright with many lightings and carefully designed glass doors, showing the shop's interior. Some had their merchandise on the window for the passer-by to see.

Night had always been beautiful in a way. He tried looking up seeing if he could see the moon and stars decorating the sky. He loved watching them. Night was the time when he could go out and be free. He could spend hours lying down in his own garden or walking down the city for a fresh air. The darkness would cover him. Nobody would bother to reprimand and harass a lone stranger in the street for his past sins.

"Here we are," Mudblood interrupted his train of thoughts. He cast his eyes down, glancing at the aged building. The car stopped, the driver took his own sweet time getting out of his own seat, circling in the relaxed pace to his door.

"How are you going to take him up, Hermione?" Opening the door, the doctor stared at him.

He stared back, wondering why he attained such a disdaining look, but decided it wasn't worth his time deciphering Muggle thoughts.

"I can ask some of my neighbours, they'll help me." Mudblood scrambled out, glancing in his direction. "If you put him on the floor near the entrance, I can ask them to help me right away."

_Put me on the floor? What am I? A toy dog? Shopping goods?_

He tried not to cringe in disgust when the man picked him up. One arm slid below his knees and other secured his back. Someone who had studied a lot should not be this strong. He knew the doctor was as tall as he was, but he doubted he would be able to pick him up, had the situation went reverse. The man hoisted him up, marching to the cement floor in front of the lobby door, and without any second thoughts, placing him down.

He hissed when he felt the snow. Narrowing his eyes to his carrier, he could see the doctor did not care at all if his patient ended up sitting on white ice that melted under his warm body.

Mudblood waited for the doctor, but when he showed no signs of leaving, she said, "I… um, I can take it from here."

The doctor peeked inside. There was no one inside the lobby. "Are you sure your neighbours want to help you? It's not an easy job, he's quite heavy."

Now he started lamenting his own disability. He could've walked inside by himself, if only he wasn't crippled. He wouldn't end up in her debt if he could walk. If only he had time getting out of the way.

He only needed two seconds. Two seconds to move from the street that day and missed his doom.

But here he was, as useless as magic-less wizard could be. No wand, no money. Mudblood had to take him home. He was as useful as the next scrap. He glanced to a garbage dumpster placed not far from his position. Perhaps he could crawl in there and spent the rest of his life with the stuff he had familiarized with himself. Sleeping in the snow would be better. After all, frostbite wouldn't be the worst way to breathe his last breath. He'd had a near-death occurrence with Muggle ride. Frostbite wouldn't be any more painful than hearing his bone cracked and his muscle twisted. There was nothing more bloodcurdling than realizing that he could do nothing but waiting for someone, anyone, to pass by and help him while he was lying in the pool of his own blood.

"No, it's okay." Mudblood waved her hands. "If you're still here, they might think twice about helping me. If they see me with no one to help, they're certainly more helpful."

"They don't seem too reliable then. If they won't help you when someone else is nearby, how come you can be so sure they'll help when I'm gone?"

Mudblood couldn't answer to that.

"I'll help you carry him up," the doctor said.

He knew what she was about to do, and he began feeling restless. The cold might freeze his rear off. "Why don't you just go away with your fancy itsy-bitsy ride and leave us alone?" he asked, his voice as cold as the snow he was sitting on.

The doctor turned to him. "Are you okay waiting in there while she's away looking for help?" he challenged. "If I'm helping you, things would be easier. The longer you're here; the frostbite risks on your legs will be higher."

_So, you knew. Why did you put me in the snow then?_ "I don't want you to carry me _anywhere_ anymore. Just go. Now."

They glared at each other, one exigent another in the hollow battle of masculinity.

Mudblood sighed, placing her hand against the doctor's. "I appreciate your concern, but…" Mudblood glanced at him, wordlessly bidding him to back down. He looked away, not because he was scared of her, but because his bottom had gone glacial. "He hates being picked up like a princess and I think he's deterred by you."

_What the—!_ "I'm not deterred by him!"

Somehow, it made the doctor sniggered. "I see." He glanced at him, his lips formed disputing smirk. "I'll go then."

He endeavoured to throw his hateful glare to the doctor. He truly did. However, no matter how much his eyes bulged out from the sockets, the doctor just ambled away not even sparing a glance in his direction.

His eyes almost popped out when the doctor looked at Mudblood. The man gave her his captivating smile, nodding to her before he went inside his car. He turned to Mudblood. She was reddening, waving at the car until it drove away. He couldn't believe this. He trapped himself between a courting game of Mudblood and Muggle.

"If you are done swooning over him," he said, waking her up from her reverie, "I'll appreciate it if you can take me inside. Right. Away."

She glared at him, her eyes filled with allegations. "I don't take orders, Ferret."

"I'm not ordering you, Mudblood," he said through gnashed teeth. It was cold, and he wondered why he did not shiver from the freezing snow underneath him. He might be stronger than he thought he was. "As you can see, I'm freezing my bottom in here. I will be_ grateful _if you take me indoors _now_."

"Can't you be a little nicer to him?" Waving in the previous direction of the doctor's car, she set her hand on her hip. "He's taking us home! He offered you a wheelchair! Oh, by Dumbledore!" He thought she was Muggle-fied but it appears that she still had some witch reminiscences after all. "He's done nothing but being nice to you! I wonder why, he's not even required to do it after all." She shook her head. "Seeing how you treat him, that man is a saint!"

He knew why the Muggle man was being finicky with him. He had an idea why, but he was simply too bushed to emphasize the detail. Moreover, it would make Mudblood's head bigger than before. Perhaps her hair would start prickling to all directions and her brain would swell thrice the normal, so he wouldn't say it.

"I'm cold in here." He ducked his head low, hiding his soundless snort. He couldn't believe he would ever resort nudging her mothering nature, but he knew it would work. Now that she would take care for him, he might've to grind this skill. "I'm so cold and I can't move anywhere…"

Mudblood sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, Malfoy."

_What? That easy? _He looked up, revising her face. She did look at him in empathy!

He grinned. Perhaps his life wouldn't be a nightmare on this Muggle world.

She narrowed her eyes. "If you believe you can do it every time you want something, you might as well learn crawling as of now. I'm not an idiot, Ferret."

His self-satisfied grin effectively erased by that sentence. While Mudblood was looking around, trying to find a perfect position to Apparate without somebody sighting them, he glanced up to the edifice. He did not want to settle with Mudblood forever, and by how she reacted on his declaration about 'Apparate wherever he wants', he knew she had the items in her residence. When she went to study, he might have an opportunity to learn more about spells and potions. He knew there was something in the wizarding world to help him getting his life back.

-x-

—

"Come to think of it, how will she endure him without a wheelchair?" Sean Kelley shook his head, wondering about his own inquiry. "If she had no one else to help her while she stays with him…"

He glowered, thinking about Hermione. In his imagination, she was drained, poignant weeping in the corner while the man who caused all that lay on the cot. The leech had gotten fat, stubbly and grimy because he couldn't provide for himself. Somehow, the 'Cinderella' song began playing behind the scene. The only problem in his image was that the female would never get out of her own nightmare, because said stepmother was her boyfriend who would yell to her every time he required something. She would never snub him because she loved him.

Sean didn't push the wheelchair issue further because he thought it would make her giving up Malfoy. When she realized how hard it was living with the crippled man without any transporting tools, she might give up earlier.

"But… it might make her suffer more than if the leech has his own ride…"

Driving his car back to his own garage, he tapped his fingers against the steer. Not long after, he made his decision. Sean pulled out his mobile phone as he walked out of the car. After searching for the name in S alphabet, he pressed the call button.

"Stephanie," Sean began. "How are you?"

"Hi, Sean!"

"I see you're fine." He paced into his home. "Listen, I need something…"

"Figures…" Stephanie countered. "Since when did you ever call me if you don't need _anything_?"

Actually, never. Nevertheless, he would not discuss a topic of calling and not calling to his baby sister. "If I say I'd like to order a wheelchair immediately, how fast can you drive it here?"

"Immediately!" she replied.

"Good. Tell mom I need it for a patient, it's urgent."

"Do I know this patient?"

_You may have his ex-girlfriend as your sister-in-law, if I'm lucky._ "No, I don't think you do." Since their mother sold medical paraphernalia to the hospital and his sister still resided with their parents, he might get that object as soon as he hung up. "One hour, Steph."

"Okay! There's still some in the storage room… See you later, Sean!"

Hanging up, he went to pour some tea and serve some cookies. It might be the best way to keep his baby sister's mouth shut.

-x-

—

"What do you mean, I will sleep here?"

Hermione resisted the urge to massage her temple in front of him. They had successfully Apparate inside her flat. With her precise calculation, Malfoy ended up falling on the sofa. While he looked around, she carried out an extra comforter and put it next to him.

He caught the reference. Conceited as he was, he was not pleased.

Draco caught a sight of double bed inside her bedroom, pointing to it. "You have a double bed! Tell me why I can't sleep in there!" He smirked, showing his supercilious smile. "Afraid of me, Mudblood?"

"Not at all." Hermione never liked another individual sleeping on the same bed with her, even when the person was a female. She had never slept with her parents and she did not like sharing her personal space with anyone but herself. But of course, Draco did not need to know that. "You can do almost everything in the sofa. Look, here." She took out a television remote from the hidden places it had been for months, setting it on the table. "You can watch television. You know it? It's a Muggle thing where you can watch—"

"I know what it is," Draco growled. "I knew perfectly well about Muggle items."

She doubted it. He didn't even know what wheelchair was. "My point is: if you sleep on the bed you can't do anything."

He narrowed his eyes. "It's closer to the bathroom."

"Ah, yes," she agreed, turning back to her bedroom. After rummaging her cabinet and finding the tool she needed, she moved back to the living room. "You can use this." She lifted up the item.

"What by the name of all living wizards is that?" he exclaimed, pointing to the item she held in repulsion. "As if I will do—do—"

"Your businesses in here?" She put the kettle shaped item on the floor, where he could reach it. "It helps both of us with your 'businesses'. I won't carry you to the toilet all the time."

"I won't debase myself by… by…" He glared to the innocent item in front of him. "By that!"

"I think you have degraded yourself to the lowest level by asking my aid, Ferret." Hermione crossed her arms, somewhat annoyed. She didn't know how this would go on for days. She might not be able holding her moral for long. She never said Avada Kedavra to anyone, and she afraid she would make her first cold slaughter if he kept his big mouth. Just one more insult…

"Aah, yes. Taking filthy Mudblood's rally round was the lowest thing I can do." He sneered. "You're right. How can I of all people forget about the filthy, sullied, detestable Mudblood serving me?"

With one swift move, she grabbed the comforter and wrapped it around his head, shocking the haughty blond. He fell with his back on the couch, gasping for breath as the enraged girl covered his face with the thick material.

She could do this. No one knew where Malfoy went, no one but her and Dr. Kelley. If he died, she could smoulder his corpse with one plain spell and…

That was all she thought about as she continued her fuming madness, choking the crushed man on her own sofa.

* * *

"I don't see the point of taking me as your companion," he said, grinning to the man beside him as they walked to their destination. "But I certainly have to thank you. Things have gotten a bit boring back home."

The big man snorted, shaking his head as his friend chuckled. "I told you many times you're not my escort. Keep it up and we got no lass on the bash."

"But they invited you, not me," he stated. "It's easier to say that I come as your escort. Hey, I might do this for a living."

"You will starve, trust me."

They stopped in front of an old manor where a lot of wizards and witches entered through the wide rusty green gate. The mansion was aged, thick green foliages covering half the outer wall. The structure itself was rusty green; the gloomy garden within the gate was crowded with people. The front door of the old mansion was wide open, letting out a dazzling light from within.

_On a night like this_, he thought pleasantly, _this vicinity was the best location for the wizard costume party. _

Several wizards took a glance at him and his friend when they walked through the entrance, but soon dismissed the look as he did not seem perilous. Before entering the mansion, he stopped and put on the black mask he brought along covering his eyes and nose. The big man put on his purple and pink tinted mask covering the same area.

He raised his brow, looking at his friend's jester appearance. "What are you wearing…?"

"My familiar tore off the original I've bought," his friends explained with a shrug. "At least it's still a mask."

Not discussing the matter further, he walked inside the abode first. As soon as their feet stepped on the small rug placed in front of the door, a hole opened beneath them.

"What in the name of—" was all he could muster before they fell into the big, black hole. Laughs and snickers from the party above following the men as they plunged down.

_Why did I ever think I will enjoy this party? I should have stayed home. At least I am safe at home…_

He fell down to the hard floor, grunting when his big friend crushed him. He heard a slight crack.

"Sorry." The man scrambled away.

"It's okay…" he said through clenched teeth, wondering if his giant friend just broke his back. They heard a feminine giggle echoed around the dark room. He sat up, slightly gratified for any kind of spirits guarding him because his back was fine. "Who's there?"

They heard a flick and before long the room was illuminated. It reminded him of an old dungeon, with rows of flaming torches planted on the old stall and long, endless tunnel.

"Sorry about that." A girl showed up in front of them, still giggling. She wore a green mask with peacock feather to cover her eyes, her silk green dress flowing to the floor. Her red hair was set in an elegant braid, with two green flowers on each side. "My father was a bit eccentric, you see."

"We can see it," he said. The girl giggled again. "I assume you're a Greengrass?"

"Your assumption is correct, Sir." She bowed to her guests, her green eyes twinkling with amusement as she said, "My name is Astoria, and I'll be your host through the night."

-x-

**_To be continued…_**


	4. Work of Minds

**Chapter 4**

**Work of Minds**

* * *

"So, what's your name, sir…?" She glanced at him, trying to see who hid beneath the layer of mask.

"Malfoy. I'm Draco Malfoy." He waited for her to flinch at that, but she showed nothing that resembled recognition.

She nodded. Her feet kept moving, leading their way out of the dungeon. "So what do you do for living, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Haven't you heard of the Malfoys?" his friends piped up. "Where have you been for these past eight years, Miss?"

"Oh, I've just graduated from Beauxbatons last month." She smiled, choosing the path around the hallway with familiarity. The torches on the wall lit up as they passed.

"I don't think Beauxbatons students are that secluded," Draco said. "In fact, I don't recall seeing you among the students visiting Hogwarts several years ago."

She turned to him, eyes sparkling. "Oh! You two are from Hogwarts?"

His friends snorted. "Sort of."

"Yeah, we're…" Draco trailed off, "sort of graduating from there, yes."

"Wonderful!" She smiled, keeping her eyes on him even when she walked. "I don't remember much about my visit as well," she admitted. "But I remember being friends with the twins from Hogwarts. They have this red hair, funny smiles and they were so much fun! They gave me a tasty custard cream; I turned into a huge bird after I ate it! They also give me their business card or something like that…" She frowned and mumbled, "I was so small back then and I lost their card on my way home."

His friends crossed his arms over his chest, while Draco pinched the skin between his brows. "I think we know who the twins you're talking about."

"Really? You guys are friends?"

"In another life, maybe," grumbled his friend.

"One of them opens a shop in Diagon Alley," Draco said. "It's called Weasley Wizard Wusses…"

"Wheezes," corrected his friend. Draco ignored him.

"Only one?" she queried in wonder. "They seemed inseparable…"

"They are," answered the blonde man. "In fact, the only thing that separated them was death."

Her eyes widened. "Oh! I don't know…" she faltered. "If you're going to see them—I mean—one of them, can you tell him Astoria is sorry for his loss?"

"Tell him yourself," Draco said. "His shop is in Diagon Alley, number ninety-three. If I go there, I don't think I'll be sorry for anything…"

"Other than your own life?" his friend finished his words for him.

He glared at the big man.

"Anyway," Astoria spoke up, pointing at the stairs ahead of them. "Here you go, please step upstairs and don't be hesitant to blend in! Almost half of the guests arrived the way you two were, so don't be shameful." She grinned, sticking her pink tongue out before turned back into the hallway, disappearing in the dark.

Draco glanced to his friend. The big man shrugged.

"Just go up," he said. "I'm really hungry right now."

"Why don't you go up first?" Draco asked in qualm, pointing at the dark hatch they had to push to get out. "I don't think I want to be eaten by anything upstairs."

"Stop being a hen, Draco."

"I stop being a hen fifteen minutes ago and see where it brought us."

"…Meeting a cute redhead?"

He thought about it. "Good point." Walking up the stairs and slowly pushing the hatch, he mumbled, "I don't think we're going to meet another cute redhead or a blonde bombshell or something like that, though…"

His friend growled and shoved his back, almost throwing the hatch he held and Mister Malfoy himself inside the room. He landed with his knees and hands on the floor, glaring at the giant as the man ambled out.

"Well, well…" A tall man was sitting on the sofa, arms spread, his mask placed on his lap. "Welcome, you, whoever you are."

Draco patted the invisible dust as he stood up, regaining his composure. "What are you doing here, Durmstrang?"

The military-looking man arched his brow. "Sorry? Do I know you?"

Draco threw his glances around the room. It was not another dungeon, thank goodness for that. He saw a door next to the sofa Durmstrang was sitting on, and from the noise behind the door, he suspected it was their way out into the party.

His big friend stared at the man and surprised him by yelling, "Hey! You're that Rum!"

The man's eyes twitched. "It's Krum."

"Yeah, whatever! You're going out with Granger on that party!"

Krum's eyes filled of recognition. "I see… you two are from Hogwarts, correct?" He smirked. "How's Hermione?"

"Why should we know?" Draco retorted. "Why don't you go out there?"

Krum flicked his fingers, still looking regal in his sitting position. "I don't appreciate too much noise. The party outside was deafening. So what's your name?" he asked, eyes studying Draco and his friend with apprehension. "I don't remember ever seeing you two at Hogwarts."

"That's because we're not as small as we used to," replied his friend. "He's Draco, and I'm _riiing_…"

Draco blinked, turning towards his friend. "What? Hey…"

His big friend looked at him, his mouth opened wide and he kept shrilling.

"_Krriiiiiingggggg.._."

Draco stared at his friend. "Have you lost your mind?"

"_Krriiiiiinnnngggggg!_"

"Wait a minute! I'm coming!"

He snapped his eyes open. The painful sound thumped his eardrum.

Groaning, Draco clamped his ears with both of his hands, cursing the doorbell. He stared at the door, wishing he could walk to open it and punch whoever rang the bell at this hour. Instead, he kept lying on the sofa, enjoying the feeling of himself drowning into the snugly fabric of his emergency bed. Glancing to the wall clock, he waited until Hermione appeared.

She looked half-dead, with her bushy hairs and messy bathrobe. Her eyes were half-shut. She stomped to the entryway.  
"Okay, who's…" she trailed off as she opened the door. "Doctor Kelley!"  
_  
What?_ Draco narrowed his eyes.

"I hope I don't come too early," the man said, and Hermione stuttered.

"Uh… No, you're not… I mean, come on in!" She opened up her door wide, turning on the light switch. Draco shut his eyes as the light turned on. "What are you doing here at this hour?"

"I'm thinking that I should give this to you before I go to work." The doctor allowed himself in, pushing something Draco had distinguished as a wheelchair. "This belonged to my father, and he's got himself a new one, so—"

She began to muttered 'thanks', 'this is so wonderful', and 'you don't have to' as the man complacently basking in her gratitude. Draco groaned and clamped his hand to his eyes.

"You're so kind!" Hermione's eyes sparkled in awe. "Isn't he so kind, Draco?"

"What?"

She stood behind the self-righteous looking doctor and made a choking motion with her hands, showing him the same lethal glare she had last night.

He gulped. "Yeah. You're so kind. Really, you don't have to. You're way too kind."

Draco almost hated himself as the doctor's face shone, accepting the fake gratitude.

"It's nothing," he said. "It's impossible for you to live without the wheelchair, so…"

The blonde winced when Hermione fell into the trap. Thankfulness shown in her tone as she said, "It means so much to me. Thank you!"

_No wonder this weird doctor keeps coming back for more._ Draco sighed at his helplessness while Hermione pulled the wheelchair and placed it right next to his makeshift bed.

"Here, Draco."

He glanced at her. "I prefer to stay in here, thank you very much."

Hermione showed her teeth, spitting out the words along with the invisible threat, "Draco, let me _help _you."

Probably his friend was right. He really _was _a hen. If not, he couldn't possibly let her do whatever she wanted, just because she had almost choked him to his death. He remembered seeing stars last night, inside the blanket that she used to choke the air out of his nasal passage.

Draco sulked when she placed him none too gently three minutes after. She might be smart, but she would never be a caring nurse. Sean stared at the process from his standing position behind the door, his face emotionless.

When Hermione had made sure Draco seated himself properly, the doctor spoke up, "I have to go now. My shift is in half an hour."

Hermione turned to him. "Oh. Okay." She looked at Draco and back at the doctor. "I'll accompany you downstairs."

"Nope, it's okay." Sean smiled. "I don't think you want to go downstairs looking like that."

Hermione looked down to her old bathrobe. A slight tinge of pink coloured her cheeks. "I can change quickly..."

"That's alright, Hermione." Sean waved to her, turning back to the hallway. "I'm really in a hurry."

Hermione walked to the door, nodding to the man before she remembered something. "Wait!"

Sean turned to her.

"The lift's broken…" she faltered. "You're carrying the wheelchair up? This is the fifth floor!"

The doctor shrugged and left. She inhaled, admiration reaching her eyes, smiles adoring her lips as she stared at his back—

"What should I do with this thing, Mudblood?"

Hermione groaned, the tender feeling she felt a moment ago completely crushed. She slammed the door close, glaring at Malfoy who tried moving the wheelchair by himself.

—

-x-

"Good job, Sean," the doctor whispered to himself.

Smiling like an idiot, he travelled down to the lobby. Asking the landlord about her room wasn't hard at all, but the old man didn't sound too happy when he informed him that a disabled young man with a wheelchair might need an elevator.

Sean couldn't decide what disturbed the old man more; another resident with special needs living with a smart aspiring med-student or the fact that he needed the elevator, which meant he had to fix it sooner than expected. He also didn't sound too cooperative when the doctor nudged him by the logic. When Hermione went to class or work, she probably needed his help to watch over her boyfriend.

So far, he was happy with what he saw. Draco was sleeping on the sofa. From the looks of it, he was afraid with his girlfriend. Moreover, Hermione seemed impressed by his efforts. It had to, he had calculated the plus and minus before carrying something like a new wheelchair to the fifth floor at five in the morning, lying about it belonged to his father.

If he thought she wouldn't be thankful, he wouldn't do it. Sean Kelley had everything premeditated in his mind.

He'd better go home and slept; his shift began at ten. If he waited for Hermione to accompany him downstairs, it would seem as spending too much effort in his part. A mind game of courting and hunting was necessary to attain his goal.

Sean thought he had done a good job today. Tomorrow, he would launch the next attack.

—

Circling the thick scarf around her neck, she paced out from her bedroom, giving her living room a momentary look.

Draco was sitting in his wheelchair in the space between her window and sofa. His face was calm, his eyes fluttered occasionally, looking at the falling snow and the buildings outside with a strange tranquillity. His blond bangs were too long, covering his eyes, but he didn't make any move to set it aside.

After locking her bedroom, she looked out through the window. It was eight in the morning, and she had several classes. Today she didn't have her volunteer work, so she could go home right after her class. Come to think about it, she probably had to quit her volunteer work. She had volunteered too much, if the thin man inside her living room was any indicator.

Leaning the side of her body against the wall far from him, she tilted her head, studying the man. He was skinny; she could probably lift him up by herself if she tried. Not that he would allow her to.

He had a look of forsaken man, with long messy hair, bones showing everywhere underneath his skin and a slumped, defeated pose. He sat like that all the time, even when in his hospital bed. He also developed a habit of looking out through the window with an unidentified expression in his eyes. Hermione caught the look often, and sometimes she thought he might be waiting for someone.

"It's snowing outside," his peaceful tone of voice startled her. "Don't just wear a scarf. Use your jacket and wear gloves if you want to go out."

She stayed still for a while. How could he see what she wore if he didn't even turn his head towards her? "I have classes. I'll be back soon."

"Just do your daily work. I'm okay by myself."

She frowned. "Are you… meditating or something?"

He turned his head toward her. "What makes you think I'm that devout?"

The girl sighed. "Nothing..." She pointed to the kitchen sink, where she put a tube of toothpaste and new toothbrush earlier. "I've put your—"

"I know. I've brushed my teeth."

"Oh." She looked around making sure everything was in place. "Well… do you know how to make breakfast?"

He gave her a glimpse, saying nothing.

"Okay, let me rephrase. Do you ever eat _anything _for breakfast?"

"Coffee." He fixed his gaze to the window. "That's enough."

Usually, Hermione too, only had a cup of coffee for breakfast. She was not a good cook and she did not have much time in the morning. Of course, she would not admit it. "It's not good for your body, drinking coffee before anything else…"

"Weird, that's coming from someone who doesn't even have a toaster."

She blinked. "I-I don't like toast—"

"I can see you don't like to eat either."

She crossed her arms, shooting him an annoyed look. "What makes you think—"

"Three-inches-tall dusts in your counter and stove," Draco said. "The only place you use is a small spot on the counter beside the coffee maker, where you temporary put the coffee bag before placing the beans inside the coffee maker, and of course the coffee maker itself."

Her eyes widened. She didn't even have her coffee this morning, and she drew nothing out of her cabinet. "How do you—"

"You know what? Just go," he continued. "I can take care of myself. I can't walk, but I have brains. I'll manage."

Sadly, Hermione comprehended it _now_, not before she took him in. "I really appreciate it if you don't cut all my sentences, Malfoy."

He sat still toward the window, not retorting back.

Huffing, she turned back and started wearing her boots when she heard him muttering, "Did you sell your gloves and jacket so you can't use it anymore, or you're just that rock-headed against logical suggestion?"

She glared at his back. "My phone number is on the fridge. Call me when you need something." She opened the door.

"Doubtful. Enjoy your day, Mudblood."

All he got in return was a loud bang on the door.

—

"And we are talking about simplifying thromboprophylaxis with rivaroxaban after the hip surgery, which means…."

Hermione gazed at her professor with ingenious stare, twirling her pen around her fingers. Beside her, Eve whimpered, already performing several head-desks on her own. Victor placed his chin between his crossed arms on the sturdy table, looking at the whiteboard with jaded face.

Meanwhile, the seventy-year-old professor kept scribbling on the whiteboard. The rest of the class divided themselves, between concentrating to whatever he was saying, or, following Eve's trail, losing it altogether.

"Oh, God, help me," Eve cried, holding her bruised forehead. "What am I doing here?"

"Sssh," Hermione glanced at her friend. "I'm trying to understand what he was talking about."

"Wow. Even our smarty can't grasp whatever he's yapping…"Eve buried her face between her hands. "I'm lost ever since he said something about varivax."

"Chicken pox?" Victor moped. "What's the relation between varicella vaccine and thromboprophylaxis?"

"They both give me a headache," answered Eve.

"Ssh," chastised Hermione again, squinting to the whiteboard. Before long, she whispered, "What is he writing about?"

Viktor yawned. "Something about herpes zoster."

Hermione looked utterly confused. "What's the relation between shingles and rivaroxaban?"

"Welcome to my world," Eve responded through her hands. Then, she perked up when she heard something. "Bell! Bell!"

Both Hermione and Victor stared at her. Then they heard it. It was a loud ring, stopping their professor's speech and speed writing.

The class was over.

"Yeah!" The cheery blonde jumped from her table and punched her fist in the air. Then, without a cue, she hopped onto their table and ran to the exit, jumping on several desks and hands on her robust way out. Her boyfriend shifted himself under the table, evading annoyed glowers the students hurled at him.

Hermione shook her head, gathering her books and paper. This class made no sense for her today, but seeing how Eve and Victor reacted, probably it wasn't just her.

"Victor," she called him, waiting until he peeped out from his hiding spot. "Is your offer still up?"

"What offer?"

"You know..." Hermione glanced around and murmured, "About the waitress job? In your father's cafe?"

He frowned, still not climbing out from his post. "I thought you didn't want that job."

"I wasn't thinking clear back then." _And I haven't had another mouth to feed_. "Is it still open?"

"Certainly," said Victor.

"Great, so where can I start?"

"Today."

She sat still. Then, she croaked, "Today... as in now?"

"Well, we need the waitress as soon as possible. If you can start today, my father will decide if you're good enough." Victor scaled out. "I'll call my father. You can do it today, right?"

"Yes..." Hermione said. "Just... wait a moment, I need to call someone."

Victor arched his brow. "Someone?"

"Yes, someone." Hermione didn't want to imply anything. She stood up and started walking to the door. "See you later, Vick."

—

Tapering his eyes, he peeked inside the keyhole. Careful with his movements, he nudged and pushed the pin, pushing the tiny gear to unlock it. When he heard a click, he twisted the pin and...  
_  
Just—a—bit more..._

He cursed when the small pin snapped and broke into several parts. Sighing, he drew out some parts and staring at his lap, where several parts of the previous bobby pins lying down, obviously suffered from another failed manoeuvre. He was a bad thief.

After he found ten bobby pins from the bathroom, he figured he could open the door to her bedroom and raid the wizardry book and potions. One or two hours would be enough for him to study and execute the spell. He knew the items were in there. Just a few feet away from him, yet he couldn't reach it. Not before he blew down the door obstructing him from his freedom.

Out of resentment, he punched the door. Then cursed when the solid wood material fought back, hurting his fist in the process. Grumbling and massaging the pain away, he glared at the door. Everything inside her house seemed so cheap. The furniture was second-hand; the only thing he knew might be expensive was the sofa. And probably the door, since it seemed thicker than any other door she had around her house.

Draco gritted his teeth, leaned back and closed his eyes. He had to think.

What kind of thing he could do inside this small place?

She had moved her sofa further from the window so he could slip his wheelchair between the spaces, while he took his bath in the bathroom. It was not what he would call a bath; instead, it was merely a wet towel placed on edge of the tub. She had told him she couldn't possibly put him inside the bath tub and fill the water for him for his usual soothing bath. She could not pull him out of the slippery tub _herself_. It might endanger them both. And while he had funny moments imagining how Hermione Granger eradicated herself by knocking her head against the wall on a slip, he certainly didn't find bleeding his head for the second time in one month to be amusing.

He'd cleaned himself with the wet towel. After contemplating the prospect for several minutes, he gave up, relieving himself by using the kettle. What was Muggles called it? ...Potty or something? He made sure Mudblood wasn't the one cleaning it, by doing the task himself soon after. He wanted her to act like what she was born to be, a dirty Mudblood. While her cleaning something so disgusting might be an excellent hoot for him, the fact it was his might cause the blond to die from embarrassment. There were a lot more ways to sully Mudblood; he just made sure he didn't disgrace himself in between.  
_  
I'm hungry._

He opened his eyes, turning his head to the kitchen area. Her living space was diminutive; he wondered how she managed to do everything in here without bumping her shoulder into the wall. It might be easy, considering how scrawny she was. When he first saw her, he barely recognized her.

She was different.

He thought she was just another Muggle. Although her appearance was fragile and bushed, her eyes sprinkled with mirth and vigour, something he had not seen in her for years. Back then, he saw something resembling hate, fear and pain in her gaze.

She in the past was something he could recognize. Not this new Mudblood.

Therefore, he tried bringing the old Hermione the only way he knew how. He felt uneasy, being in a Muggle world, and the only person he knew was not the same one.

When she'd retorted his words, he felt relieved and...  
_  
Safe?_

Draco frowned. He would not use that kind of sentiment...

Rolling the wheel of his newfound ride, he moved into the kitchen. She had taught him how to use the chair; it took no longer than five minutes for him wheeling like a pro. She didn't seem too glad for that, though, and he could've sworn he saw strange gear turning inside her head as she entered her bedroom without a word, preparing herself for class.

He gleefully moved his chair all over the living area and stopped right in front of the window, realizing for the first time, how beautiful snowfall looked like outside. He suspected it might be the reason why she chose this place. It was too absurd to live in here, without beautiful scenery forfeiting all the minus features. It didn't even have a working heater!

He had bundled himself inside his blanket all night, temperatures had dropped severely on the living room. If he had not used the blanket as sleeping bag, he might not survive last night.

He stopped next to the fridge, opening the door. He knew several Muggle items because it was not very different from his own at home. He was especially familiar with kitchen items, but Mudblood did not need to know how often he cooked himself a meal. While he adored his mother more than anything else in the world, he could not bear to eat anything she called food.

Growing up in Hogwarts had taught him how a meal should taste like. Coming home to her parents every year taught him how bad his mother was at cooking. He often wondered about it, because it was clear she used magic to cook everything, and they had more servants than they really needed. Not to mention the house elves. Still, after he graduated he taught himself how to cook without magic. It seemed ridiculous, using magic for things he could switch on and off by himself. So far, only few people ever ate his cooking.

He reached out his hand and grabbed an apple inside the fridge. Biting the flesh of the fruit, he closed the fridge. Munching his emergency ration, his other hand hugged his slender frame. It was freezing, and he didn't like eating cold apple in the middle of cold winter. But he didn't know where the pan and pot were, he wouldn't bother opening up the cabinets. There was nothing in the fridge but fruits and juice boxes.

He might be right; she didn't like to eat, at least in her own house. If he knew where everything was–and he had cleaned up the stoves and counters— he could fix himself a tasty meal.

He moved his wheelchair to the coffee machine, placed next to the fridge on top of half-clean counter. He put his arm on top of the counter, pushing his upper body up. With another hand, he reached into the upper cabinet and yanked it open.

As he presumed before, the coffee bag was there. He pushed his body a further bit more, clutching the brown bag before sitting back on his wheelchair. A grin formed in his lip as he held the bag close to his nose, sniffing the tasty smell proverbial to him.  
_  
Toraja. Nice. At least she has something good in here..._

He opened the bag, peeking inside with the excitement of small kid on his Christmas morning. Slowly, he scooped the beans and filled it into the coffee machine, which was reachable from his sitting position. Closing the important bag and setting it on the counter, he leaned back and watched the grinding process.

This was familiar to him. The humming and grinding sound brought him back to his past. Before the accident, he often made successful Sunday gatherings. At the gathering, the only person allowed to cook was himself, and nobody should help him. He was surprised at first to notice how much he enjoyed cooking a la Muggles, but it surprised his guests more. Well, he couldn't be fair calling them his guests; they were merely his parents, his friend and Astoria. Although the latter just started coming for a year...

"Dance, Mr. Malfoy?"

He turned around, only to see the same girl he met earlier. She grinned at him.

"I guess I better snatch you up before someone else did." She gave him her hand, raising her chin in such way. He couldn't help but chuckle. "Well? Aren't you going to be a gentleman and take me up on my offer?"

Smirking, he held her hand and kissed it, murmuring, "Anybody tells you how assertive you are?"

"I prefer the word 'dynamic', thank you very much," she said, pulling him to the dance floor. He circled his arm around her waist, and taking one of her hands into his. "What are you doing, Mr. Malfoy?"

He blinked.

She slapped the arm circling her waist playfully. "Off."

"What? But..."

"Who said I'm letting you hugging me?"

He really didn't comprehend this woman. Draco shrugged, letting her go. "You're the one asking me to dance, remember?"

"We're not going to dance like that," she replied. Seeing his puzzled expression, she laughed. "Oh, you don't get it, do you?"

Just then, the music turned alien on him. He grimaced, looking at the orchestra playing in the corner of the room. The guests seemed familiar with the routine, though, as they stopped their dances and started circling their arms into one another, forming a long row.

"What's this?" he asked, looking around. The music was bizarre to his ears. "I don't..."

"I'll teach you!" she claimed, tugging him to the end of the row. She tangled her right arm to another person and her left arm to his. He frowned and shook his head.

"Listen, I don't even understand what kind of dance this is."

"You'll get it soon!" she said without a care. "And... start!"

At that cue, the music started drumming in his ears, and everyone on the dance floor raising their right feet up in the air. He was pulled by her force and awkwardly lifting his right foot. Then they stomped the same foot to the ground and put it on their left knees, half-squatting. He fell down as she half-squatted next to him.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Malfoy!" she said, pulling him up and tangling their arms back together as the others put down their right feet, lifting up their left ones and stomping it on the floor.

"This is crazy!" he yelled, but ended up raising his left foot and stomped it to the floor, by instinct putting it on his right knee and half-squatting. He was correct; it was their next move.

"Ho-ho-ho!" everyone yelled. "Ho-ho-ho!"

He shook his head and quietly refused to yell, instead following everyone as they, once again, raised their right feet up in the air. "What kind of stupid dance is this?"

"Isn't it fun?" Astoria cackled. "My dad learned this when he was in the Muggle place, he called it 'Cabaret Dance'! Ho-ho-ho! Wooo!"

He said nothing, wondering if he had met his end by coming to the party hosted by lunatic.

"Ho-ho-ho!" everyone yelled at once, including those who didn't dance. "Ho-ho-ho!"

She laughed, and he turned his head to see her candour smile. It was uncommon for any girl smiling like that out in the open, especially those with high reputation such as the Greengrass.

Then he saw him.

He paled. All of the sudden he didn't enjoy this anymore.

"I need to go now," he whispered to her, and untangled their arms. Turning to leave, he looked around the crowds. He couldn't see his friend, so he figured he better left by himself right away.

Walking outside the aged mansion, he didn't expect her running after him.

"Wait! Wait!" she cried, stopping him right outside the mansion. He turned, ogling the crowd inside. "Why are you leaving?" she asked, glaring at him through her pretty mask. "Isn't this party fun or something?"

"Yes, this party is certainly something," he said, out of formality. "But I remember something I need to do now; I can't understand how I forgot to do it before I come here."

"Lies!" She put her hands on her hips, tilting her head. "Lift up your mask!"

He stepped back, unsure of what he just heard. "Excuse me?"

"Show yourself!" Without hesitation, she lifted up her mask and removed it from her face. He saw her face.

She was gorgeous. Her cheekbone was high, her nose was small and pointed and her eyes... for something that was shown behind the mask earlier, it still managed to astonish him. She had the greenest set of eyes he ever saw. The hue is even brighter than the eyes of H—

He shook his head. "Sorry, I thought the purpose of this party was for concealing the identity of guests..." He stepped back and turned away. However, what she done next shocked him even more.

She shoved him. He fell down with no grace, somehow managed to put out his hands to support himself. When he looked up, she yanked his mask and crouched down in front of him. Stunned, he stayed still until she finished checking him out.

"I knew it..." she whispered with another cheeky grin. "You're cute."

He sulked, his annoyance fading away. "Is this how you treat all your guests?"

"Only the ones I'm attracted to," she replied, holding his chin with her fingers and throwing his mask behind her back. She gave him a calm look. "Now that I know your face and you know mine, I suppose we'll meet again, Mr. Malfoy."

And with that, she stood up, walking into the mansion without even looking back at her bewildered victim.

—

"Why did you leave me in there?"

Draco looked up from his wine glass.

The man he had accompanied to the party stared at him, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. He purposely leaned his big body in the doorframe, covering more than soft light shining through the opened door.

Sometimes Draco wondered if the friend he had been with since childhood was actually a calculating persona hiding behind a bulky form of fat and asinine face. Even though his friend had done everything for him during their Hogwarts years, once Draco fell into a deadly path of serving the Dark Lord, he turned away and let the blond faced his own fate. Later on, when Draco thought he had lost everything, the big man showed up and helped him enduring rejections, threats and accusations.

"I didn't mean to," Draco said, placing the wine glass on the coffee table. "I was looking for you, but I didn't see you anywhere."

The man kept studying Draco and his defeated pose on his couch, moving to the empty seat beside the blond.

Seating himself and leaning back, he muttered, "Is this because Potter came to the party?" To Draco's startled look, he explained, "He greeted me after you left. That redhead Weasley girl told me she saw you leave."

Instead of answering, Draco turned away and stared at his own clasped hands.

The man sighed and crossed his arms. "Aren't you tired feeling beaten to him?"

Draco glared at his friend. "I'm not feeling beaten to Potter."

"Then why did you leave?" the man asked, resting his head on the back of the sofa. "I can't see any other reason for avoiding a man who has never done anything wrong to you. In fact, he welcomed you and your family back after all you've done."

"I didn't ask him to do that!" Draco said, standing up. "I'm not a damn charity case! Isn't that enough for him being the hero? Why does he have to show off his sincerity by being nice to me? I don't want his pity!"

"Then what do you think you can get from someone like Potter?" the man said, closing his eyes. "For someone who has fallen so far from their mighty place, you sure have the right behaviour to trigger everything you deserve."

"I don't need you to do this!" Draco growled, glaring at his complacent friend. "If you want to defend him, then go and be his friend! I don't need you!"

"Oh, really?" The man chuckled. "Then if I stop being your friend, will you get out of my house and stop working at my shop?"

Stunned, all the blond could do was staring at the unmoving man.

"Can you do that?" the man said, opening his eyes and staring at Draco. "If I stop being your friend, will you be able to pay off all your debts to me and move all your belongings out of my guest room right away?"

Draco ducked his head low, his head started spinning when he remembered all the things his friend had done for him and how he should pay for it.

After the Deadly Hallow incident, he had moved out of his parents' house and stayed with his friend. After the graduation, because he couldn't get a job, his friend gave him a job in his shop. After he started making money on his own and capable of feeding himself, Draco retained a bit of his confidence back, beginning to enjoy life as he used to. He always went home twice a week, but he never felt the same affection to his parents like before the incident.

For over a year, Draco had thought of his friend's house as his, and had never thought about the possibility of losing his job and his resting place if his friend wished for it.

"Tell me, Draco," the man continued, "if you think what Potter did to you was out of pity, then what about my actions? Have you ever thought what they classified as?" He shrugged. "I'm sure I'm not attracted to you as a lover, and you were not a great and faithful friend to begin with. What makes you think I did all that for you?"

"Is that what you think of me all this time?" the skinny blond spat. "I'm just a mere charity case for you?"

"Well, you're not exactly someone who can help me with my career, and you never did anything worthwhile for me." Straightening his arms, the man pushed his hands back to cradle the back of his head. "I did whatever I could to help you because I will feel bad if I don't. We have been friends since we were toddlers, Draco. I took your happiness as my responsibility. So does everyone around you, no matter how ignorant you are in welcoming anyone who just wants to be kind to you."

"I don't need pity!" Draco spat, turning away. "I'll get out of this place in the morning. I don't need you or anyone giving me a fake kindness."  
He stomped out, not giving a single glance back to the leisure room even when the man started calling his name.

—

Sighing, Draco poured the warm coffee into a cup he had cleaned. He clutched the cup close to his face, inhaling the calming smell. He stared at the black colour and absently shook the cup with gentle circular motion. The colour and his reflection started to whirl and dance in one smooth circle.

He wondered if this looked like the cycle of his life. He always ended up falling into the same path all over again. First, the Dark Lord, then this…

This time, however, he had brought it upon himself. He knew how his friend felt towards the girl, yet he stayed in his belief that whatever happened, his friend would give up. He had been lying when he said he had no idea how much his friend liked his girlfriend.

He could see the sparkle in the eyes, the warm smile and the subtle affection. Yet he steeled himself in the fact that his friend would forget it soon enough, or at the very least remembered how close they were as friend to let the girl became his.

Startled, Draco snapped back to reality when he heard the phone rang and jigged; causing the hot liquid from the cup spilled a generous amount into his lap. Cursing and hurriedly moving the hand holding the cup away, he hit his hand against the counter and dropped the cup in shock. He tried pulling the pants away from the skin it covered up so it wouldn't burn his legs, at the same time waving the pain away from the other hand. In the middle of the phone ring, he turned around and spotted a rag placed near the sink, then reached out to it with his hurt hand. With one other hand doing its best keeping the wet and hot pant from glued onto his skin, he forgot about his condition and moved his body as best as he could grab the rag. When he still couldn't get a hold of the material, he pushed his body forward as he tried to stand up for the rag.

Draco had no idea what was wrong, but his legs refused to obey him. Instead, they felt weak and shaky, and before he knew what was happening, he fell to the floor and with both hands busy doing anything else than supporting him, his chest hit the ground. Yelping in pain, the paraplegic man glared at his own knees, wondering what was wrong.

He tried to push his lower body up, so the burning front side of his pant wouldn't rub and injure his thigh and groin, but he couldn't move his hip, even when he pushed his upper body up with the help of his shaking hands. Breathing hard, Draco turned his head towards his wheelchair, and meekly reached the wheel with one of his hands. Malnourished and weak, the blond only managed to push himself to sit on the ground and leaned his head against the seat of the wheelchair instead of pushing his body up to sit on it.

At that moment, Draco could not care less with the burning pain on his thigh and groin, or the stinging feeling in his hand, or the numb ache in his chest. All he wanted to do was to stand up. He failed to support his own weight with his arms, and burdened with all the failure and stupidity his normal self would never do, he started to quiver.

Was this his fate? Did the trio of fates resign him for this because he was a greedy person who always took and enjoyed whatever offered to him, but never gave anything back?

Probably this was his payment, forever trapped in a wheelchair and had to have someone to help him on everything, even to do something he should be able to do himself.

Forever, he would be bound to Mudblood, and she would end up spending her entire life serving his needs. While he loved to tease and mock her about her Muggle blood, he had no intentions on making someone suffer so much just because they were kind enough to care for him. He loved to see someone he despised got annoyed or maybe even had a bit of unfortunate time, but not if the unfortunate time they had, was because of him and his own fault.

With tears blurring his eyesight, Draco tried his best to keep back a sob.

Half a minute later, he turned his head to glare at the thing on top of the end table that kept letting out a ringing noise and pounding his eardrums.

"Muggles are idiots for keeping that at home," he mumbled in low breath, "can't even cry quietly…"

Sighing, he put his hands on the floor and pulled the rest of his body forward, sliding himself over the room to kill the noisy thing once and for all. Sadly, he knew what that whiny thing was, and he had a feeling the only one who would call when the owner was not at home was the owner of the property herself.

Once he approached the end table, he glanced at the wheelchair far from his current position. He should have moved it a bit further near the sink in the first place instead of getting panic over nothing and injuring himself.

Draco picked up the phone and placed it on the side of his face, like what he always saw on the box thing called television.

"Hello?"

"Malfoy, it's me."

"What? Who?" Draco frowned, trying to listen to the voice but when the caller repeated her word, the volume was too small for him to listen. He pressed the phone harder to the side of his face, trying to get a word out of a low mumble he heard. Muggles should have a very good sense of hearing to be able to hear something out of this. "Hello? I can't hear you."

He heard a sigh, then a stronger tone, "Turn the phone you hold upside down, place the one you currently set on your mouth to your ear."

He moved his head away, staring at the phone and slowly turning the phone he held upside down. He placed his ear against the place where he had put his mouth.

"Hello?" he said again.

"Can you hear me now, wizard?" Hermione's voice was steady without a hint of tease, but he felt a blush creeping on his cheek. Okay, _so what_ if he didn't know which part should be placed on which side?

"Yeah, I can hear you," he muttered.

"Are you okay?" she asked casually, but he caught a bit of hesitation when she paused. "Were you just crying?"

His eyes widened. "What? No! Why—who—what—I AM NOT A GIRL! Why would I be crying anyway?"

"Your voice is shaky, Malfoy," she replied. "And you sure take your sweet time answering this, so either you planned to jump off the window when I called but you can't do it because you're not strong enough to push yourself out of that chair—"

"Are you doing this just because you're bored, Mudblood?" Draco said. "Don't you have anything better to do than teasing someone who is stuck in the chair and trapped inside your house all day?"

"Ah, yeah I do," Hermione said, "I'm going to be home late, I have a work after class. If you're hungry, there's some apple and juice inside the fridge. And please…" She sighed. "Whatever your stupid brain told you to do, never turn on the stove or coffee machine by yourself. They were placed too high for someone who sits in a wheelchair to use. You might end up hurting yourself."

Draco frowned, then rapidly looking around the room. "You've put something in here, right?"

"Something? I don't get it—"

"There's no way you can see I'm crying or placing the phone upside down or turning on the coffee machine or—" he caught himself in time, but he still heard her mumbling.

"Should've known better..."

"You hid a camera inside your house, don't you, Mudblood?" Draco snapped, shame replaced by anger. "Do you think I'm going to steal anything that belongs to you or ruin your house?"

"Well… I think you've already ruined my house." Hermione said. "And about stealing, I'm pretty sure you have tried to unlock my bedroom door to get all the items you can rob while I'm out."

Like a deer who was just about to get hit by a car, Draco froze. He frantically looked around, glaring at every surface he could stare at, searching for the camera.

"Are you done, Jean?" Draco heard a male's voice echoed in the background, and Hermione replied something to the man.

"I have to go now. Just—" Hermione sighed. "Don't put my house on fire. The landlord was very angry this morning when he heard I'm housing a disabled—"

"I'm not disabled!" Draco yelled with all his might, his face dark red, hotter than the coffee spilled in his lap. "I'm not crying! I won't burn your house! I'm not stealing anything! And I won't jump off the window! I'm not stupid, Mudblood!"

"Or brave," Hermione agreed. "It's more likely you fell to the floor and currently moping around with your bottom than jumping off the window. And when I arrive at home, I think I'm going to see you on the floor, crying and tiring yourself from a stupid attempt to stand up—"

The furious blond slammed the phone to the end table repeatedly, wishing he had a better strength in his arm while doing so, imagining it was Mudblood's head he was banging at. After he was sure he had killed the phone, he started a new rampage on locating and assassinating the secret camera he believed was there.

—

"Don't forget, this spoon should not be used to scoop another coffee." Victor pointed to the cash register. "After you give the customer anything they want, when you stand in front of the cash register—whether it is a takeout or you deliver it to their table—don't forget to smile and say, 'Thank you.' And please, be a bit humble."

Hermione arched her brow. "Are you implying I'm arrogant, Boss?"

"Well… sometimes when you say something, it turns into a lecture and you look smug so…" Victor coughed, patting her shoulder. "Anyway, we'll be checking on what you do today. Three mistakes and it's a no."

"I'm not known for mistakes," grumbled Hermione. Victor pointed at her face at once.

"There! See what I mean? Remember, I'm your boss in here. Act humble and don't talk back even when I'm wrong."

"But—"

"Rules of working, Jean," Victor said, showing one of his fingers. "One, the boss is the king. Unless you're planning on coup-d-etat, which means bye-bye to paycheck, don't talk back or act smug. Two, they said customer is a king but in reality they're only customer. Which brings us back, to rule number one. Three, everything written as rules are made by the boss, which means if you can obey rules, you can obey the boss."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Right, and you may roll your eyes or do whatever in class but in this place, you're my worker." Her boss pointed to a couple who just arrived and sat on the corner of the café. "Okay, bushy head, go and serve your first customer."

Hermione stopped herself from walking to the couple, and glared to her classmate.

"Remember the three rules?"

Turning herself so she could roll her eyes, Hermione greeted the couple and offered them the menu.

—

* * *

**_To be continued…_**


	5. Rebuild

**Chapter 5**

**Rebuild**

* * *

-x-

-x-

He sat at the edge of the room, avoiding the crowded tables near the fireplace. The snow was piling up outside, and the wall he leaned on was cold. He flipped pages after pages of The Daily Prophet. There were job offers, here and there.

What could be a suitable job for Hogwarts graduate? If that was his only portfolio, he could apply for a job in the ministry. He was able to do some accounting or a lower level administrative work. He did all that for his family already. He's familiar with counting money and bookkeeping.

But let's not forget the damning fact about being the son of a Death Eater. And then being the Death Eater himself. Who would accept him once they saw his dark mark? Without adding the last employee he had, the You-Know-Who, he could probably work in the pub he was sitting on right now. He just had to avoid telling everyone he was that Draco Malfoy. It wasn't good for The Leaky Cauldron to have an employee who used to be a Death Eater.

Four days out of his friends' mansion, with only one bag of belonging he had, Draco Malfoy was bored and broke. He checked on the job listing every day. He was more than capable managing a store. He was good at writing. He could work at the apothecary. He wasn't that bad at herbs. He was especially good at spells. Dark, unmentionable spells. Was there anyone who had a need for that skill?

Malfoy checked out every job that needed someone with a good reputation. He doubted he'd pass as a bouncer or a prison guard. That left working in a magic hotline. What was this magic hotline thing? Some confusing ideas those wizards took from Muggle world?

Four days, and his coins were running out. He left in the middle of the night, and he was pleased when his friend didn't try to contact him. It'd be worse if his friend tried to find him only to offer him some coins. He worked at his friend's store for coins. He didn't accept charity. Not anymore.

Two more days at this place and he should go somewhere cheaper. Draco had no idea of any other place he could go to that didn't include his family into the equation. He hadn't been here since he graduated Hogwarts. He missed the Butterbeer. The noisy brats from Hogwarts few tables away, not so much.

When someone entered The Leaky Cauldron, Draco didn't look up. He never tried to stick out so much anymore. Newspaper and Butterbeer were enough companions he could take.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco glanced at the long olive skirt in front of him. Then he looked up. "Greengrass." He looked around. Nobody accompanied her. "You're a long way from home."

"Nice to meet you here," said Astoria. She motioned to the chair in front of Draco. "May I?"

Draco shrugged and returned to his rag.

Astoria placed her purple floral purse on the desk. "Did you get the flower?"

"What flower?"

"You didn't get it? I sent flowers to everyone attending our party. It should already arrive at your home now."

Draco grimaced.

"I don't know why you haven't got it." Astoria opened her purse and searched for something. "I sent them the morning after the party. It was a bouquet of wisteria, lily and poppy." Astoria made a wide circle with her arms. "It was this big. Are you sure you didn't see the bouquet in your home?"

"If by home you mean Malfoy's residence, it's probably there now." Draco folded his newspaper. "If you need to send something to me, just use an owl and send it to this tavern. Second floor, third door."

Astoria turned to the second floor. "Are you running away from home?"

"No." Draco finished his Butterbeer. "I just left. I'm old enough."

"Are you staying here until you buy your own mansion?"

Draco almost choked on the last foam. He placed his mug down and stared at Astoria. "Do I look like I can buy a mansion right now?"

The girl blinked.

"I'll be here until I get a job. After that, if you can find me, send me another bouquet. I sure can use something nice to decorate my shack." Draco stood up and took his newspaper. "Do whatever you wanted to do before you saw me, Greengrass. If you're lonely and can buy me another Butterbeer, just knock on my door. Until then…"

Astoria stood up and held up both of her hands. "Wait! There's something I need to ask!"

Draco frowned and turned his head to the girl flailing her hands. "What? You sure have a flair for the dramatics."

Astoria huffed and flipped her long red hair to her back. "I'm a Greengrass." As if that explained everything.

"What is it?"

"Can I see your hand?"

Draco stared.

The girl snatched his left hand and turned the palm up. "…It's not smooth at all."

"I'm not a girl. Of course it's not smooth." Draco pulled his hand back.

"Can you work hard?" Astoria let his hand go.

Draco opened his mouth, but then gave a halfhearted shrug. "I don't know anything about tools and spells for construction, if that's what you mean. But I can do it."

"No, no." Astoria took her purse and pulled a card out. "I have an herb garden. My only employee quit before the party, he couldn't handle taking care of the rare herbs with his hands."

Draco accepted the card adorned with leaves and bright colour swirling on the yellow coloured paper: Greengrass Herbs.

"I couldn't find anyone willing to garden with their hands only," Astoria said. "But it's important to use only your hands because some of these herbs are feeding of human touches and die with too much spells. It's hard work and I couldn't pay much. I'm only getting started."

Draco traced the card with his callused hand, gained from too much picking up heavy crates when plenty of emergencies happened at regular intervals in his friends' storage room.

"I start getting good clients, though. I deal with very rare herbs that most rare potions need. For now, I only have one greenhouse and no employee to take care of it." Astoria tried to pick up anything from Draco's expression. "I couldn't offer you any room, but I have access to my family's storage room. It's spacious and clean. Right now there's nothing in it, it's not harvest season yet…"

Draco gave the card back to Astoria. The girl sighed and took the card. The man threw his newspaper on the table.

"Can I start now?" Draco said. "Please wait, I just have to take my bag down."

-x-

* * *

-x-

She was expecting a mess inside. Patting off the snow hanging to her strands of damp hair, Hermione stopped in her tracks. Her room was clean. There was nothing out of sorts that she expected. A kettle was on the stove, warm flames heating it up. On top of the coffee table, a cup of tea was half-empty. A tea spoon lay next to it on top of a small plate. The room was cool.

Draco was sitting on the floor near the window. A wheelchair sat next to him, not downturned on the floor. The man had Hermione's old scarf around his neck, old bathrobe around his thin frame. His head leaned on the windowsill. Outside the thin glass, snow poured down on anything that couldn't get inside fast enough. Everything was white. People walking by were nothing but a slight movement of white with tiny bits of colour.

Hermione couldn't find anything to say. Saying things like 'I'm back' would've implied Draco was living here. Anything else didn't seem to fit the sombre mood he created while she was away.

She walked in and put the groceries on the sofa. The man was quiet. Hermione took out a small tinfoil package from the groceries and put it on the table. Against the window, Draco looked like an old cat mourning his old days of frolicking under the sun, now that it was too old to be anything but an inside housecat.

"Your hands can move, right?" Hermione said. Draco moved his head a bit, as if surprised she was in the room. "I got something for you to do while I'm away."

Draco's head turned slightly, eyes glancing to the coffee table. Hermione removed her gloves and un-wrapped the package.

"I'll teach you how to do this. It doesn't make a lot of money, but it's better than licking the window out of boredom." Hermione showed a jar of oil, lump of wax and tiny bags of spices and leaves. "You know how to turn on the stoves, so I think you know how to cook candle."

"Aromatherapy?"

Hermione stared at the thin man, and turned to the items she held. "…Yes."

Draco pushed his frame from the windowsill. "You sell it by the dozens?"

Hermione opened her mouth. "Yes… Wait, you know how to do this?"

Instead of replying, Draco reached up, gripped the arms of his wheelchair and pulled himself up. At the time Hermione put the wax and oil down to the table and moved to help him, Draco was already seated in the wheelchair. He grabbed the wheels and turned it slightly, moving the wheelchair away from the window. Draco stopped next to the coffee table and reached out to take the jar of oil.

"Where's the candle cups?" Draco uncapped the jar and sniffed the oil scent.

Hermione took out the cups from her grocery bag and watched as Draco un-wrapped the boxes of wax out of its plastic. He placed the wax and the jar of oil on his lap and steered the wheelchair to the stove. With one hand, he reached down to open the lower cupboard. He took out a medium sized cooking pot and placed it on the stove next to the kettle. Turning on the stove, Draco measured the fire.

"What are you looking at?" the man said when Hermione watched his movements. "Go ahead, shower or something. I won't burn this place down."

Hermione was so curious. "You know how to turn on the stove? To cook without spell? Wait, how do you know how to cook? You have house elves. How do you know how to turn on the stove like that?"

Draco raised his brow. "Are you mocking me, Mudblood?"

"I—" Hermione gritted her teeth. "You're not supposed to know these things, you stupid ferret! You were raised with magic!"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's a stove. There's a switch. I know how it works. Go do your own thing." The kettle was boiling and Draco switched the flame off. "Were you always doing this after your class ended? Standing there doing nothing? What a waste of time."

Glaring to his previous position on the windowsill, Hermione shook her head and headed to the bathroom. She took one last glance toward the man in front of the stove, scowled and shut the door.

-x-

* * *

-x-

The bell rang. The old woman raised her head from her crossed arms, broke out of her dream. The young woman coming into her bookstore in an old coat and yellow scarf looked familiar.

"Hello, Miss." The young woman smiled. "Do you remember me?"

"…Aah, yes, yes!" the old woman said. "Hermione, correct? My, how you've grown! You used to visit every month when you were studying at Hogwarts!" The manager stood straighter and took her glasses she removed during her nap. "How's your pregnancy? How are you coming along?"

The young woman looked confused. "I'm not pregnant."

"You aren't?" The old manager wore her glasses and stared down to Hermione's stomach. "You were pregnant the last time I saw you." The old woman scrunched her brows and bent closer to study Hermione's head. "I remember your hair was redder than this. It was so red it looked like flames! And much, much straighter. You also have more meat on your bones! What happened?"

Hermione blinked. "…I am Hermione, Miss. I'm not Ginny Potter."

The old woman waved her hand. "Of course you are Hermione! Hermione Potter! I always liked seeing you two. What a sweet couple, together since you were in Hogwarts. Is Ginny the name of your daughter?"

The young woman looked down, and after a while, she gazed up, smiled and said, "Can I get some books on medicinal herbs and potions to cure broken nerve system?"

The old woman pulled open her thick, old tome. Dust flew when she flipped the pages. Hermione coughed. "I think there are some of those herbal cures and rare potion titles." The old woman pointed to the back row of bookshelves in her store. "Longbottom wrote some of them. It was on the section L, along with his wife's books, Lovegood Cure. You'll see them on the third row on the back."

Hermione thanked the old woman and headed to the back.

"L…L… Livingstone, Longbottom." Hermione traced the title on the books stacked neatly on the row. The books were new and some of them looked like they were just taken out of a box. She took out one of the books titled 'Cure for Impossible Sickness' and began reading.

Hermione knew it was probably pointless to look around search for a spinal cord injury in the Wizarding world. If there was any problem in the nerve system, wizards would've taken care of it long before any long time damage occurred on the body. Draco's injury happened in the Muggle world. Nobody from this world had ample time to reverse the effect and help him. At the time Draco woke up from the injury, he had lost his wand and refused to contact anyone who knew him, making the problem worse. If there was anything that could help him regain his mobility back, Hermione would've found it. She spent her holiday reading about potions and cures before she decided to enter the medical major. But probably, with Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood as the head of Health and Medicinal Facilities in the ministry, something new had arisen. Something new, that could help Draco and in extent Hermione out of this.

She thought of contacting Malfoy's residence before coming here, but she had promised to Draco she'd keep this a secret. What an unfair promise. She owed nothing to the Malfoy. She had paid for his hospital fee and surgery fee. She took care of Malfoy in her house, and what did she get?

She got a cup of herbal tea and an omelet this morning. When she woke up and opened her door, she thought someone sneaked into her house to cook and fled with the food leaving behind the wonderful aroma. Turned out it was Draco, who sat on the sofa, watching the morning news. The man said nothing. He pointed to the plate of omelet and hot cup of tea on the coffee table. Another plate and cup were already on the sink. To say she was stunned was not an exaggeration. When Hermione asked him how he knew how to cook, the man glared and said that the stove was there, so he cooked. It was an accumulating theory and headache in Hermione's head, to guess how Malfoy who grew up around willing house elves knew his way around the stove.

She left the house with a full, warm stomach, something that lifted her mood unlike her usual morning coffee. If it could be called a coffee; a chunk of black bitter liquid and a gallop of sugar was more like it. Draco didn't ask where she went to despite it being Saturday. Instead, when Hermione left he was busy at the stove, cooking yet another batch of candles. Two dozen small aromatherapy candles were placed on the coffee table, each the same size as another, with leaves and spices. Hermione promised to pack anything Draco finished and delivered it to her friends' shop this afternoon. It seemed like now Draco was on the mission of making as much candle as he possibly could. With shaky but determined hands, Draco placed the dry spices and leaves in the cup while the candle was cooling around it.

Something was different about him. Hermione had to admit, she had no idea what he was doing after he graduated Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy barely graduated. Not because he was a fool, something Hermione knew already, but because the bitterness and harassments from the classmates after the end of Voldemort. After the teasing and yelling got to a different level, Harry and Ron had to sit next to Draco, each on his side, to make people stop throwing anything bigger than a pebble at him during class. They didn't say anything to each other, but something was different in the boys' relationships afterwards. Draco didn't go out on weekends after that, preferring to stay in in the safety of his room at Slytherin. There was a whisper that nobody wanted to sleep next to his bed, that the two beds next to him were empty. Hermione thought Slytherin was where all the shrewd people gathered. They should've followed and cheered for Draco afterwards! Maybe being the Death Eater who lived and returned to Hogwarts without so much as a punishment was too much for them.

It didn't take long for Draco to graduate and disappear from anyone's radar. There were rumours about him starting his own cult, taking over his father's business or marrying someone as rich and old as his family in order to restore the Malfoy's wealth and honour. Now Hermione knew none of them was true.

She did think to ask Draco about his life before the accident. If she was about to house a criminal, she'd like to know beforehand. But Draco was never on the good side of her, so what did it matter? Asking things like how his life had been only made her look like she care. The last thing Hermione wanted was for Draco to use her for his own profit. She was kind but she wasn't a fool. She had set a time limit on how long she would take care of him. If nothing else could be done and he still didn't have the right mind to contact his family, she'd do it for him. Then she'd ask for her money back. For Malfoy, Hermione did no charity.

"Oh, Mrs. Potter? What are you doing in here?" the old woman said. "I thought I told you the books are on the back?"

"What?" Ginny's voice surprised Hermione. "I don't understand."

"Were my eyes playing tricks on me again? I could've sworn I just talked to you a few minutes ago!" the manager said. "Oh, and you're pregnant again!"

"I—yes," Ginny said. "Harry, were you here earlier?"

Hermione crouched. Crawling to the edge of the bookshelves, Hermione glanced toward the front area of the store.

"I'm not?" Harry said. Flapping and patting his thick brown overcoat to get rid of the snow, Harry Potter looked at the new books stacked high on the floor next to the manager's desk. "I don't know, Ginny, I did hear everyone saying you look like someone. Who isn't so heavily pregnant and isn't a woman. Oh, wait, your brother."

Ginny smacked her husband's chest. "Miss, I'm looking for the latest edition of Happy Baby. Is it out yet?"

"It's over there." The manager pointed to the stacks of books near the couple. "But I swear you were just coming in, Ginny! You weren't as big and you were less… fashionable? I loved the scarf and the coat but it wasn't how you usually dressed!" The old woman pointed to where Hermione hid. "And you were just looking for the potion book over there!"

_That old madam and her selective memories!_ Hermione winced when Harry headed toward her. She stood up and plastered the smile on her tired face.

"Hermione!" Harry's face brightened. He pulled her into a hug. "What are you doing here?"

"…As the manager said, looking for medicinal books." Hermione relaxed her body when Harry pulled away. "How are you and Ginny?"

"We're fine," Harry said. "Why are you looking for medicinal books in here? You're studying medicine in the Muggle world. You can't apply anything you learned in here."

"Hermione!" Ginny waved at her. "So nice to meet you again! It's been so long!"

"Hi, Ginny," Hermione said. "Okay, uh. Well, I need to get back to my place now."

"Wait, wait!" Harry held on Hermione's arm. "What are you talking about? We just met and you already want to run off? Come on, Herms."

"Oh, I remember!" the manager said. "You, you… whoever you are, I remember Lovegood's book about reversing the effect of nerve damage! It's that tenth book on your right!"

Wishing everyone didn't see how she silently gritted her teeth, Hermione plucked the book from the shelf.

Harry shook his head. "You know you can't cure Muggles with things from here, right, Herms? No matter who they are, you'll get punished by the ministry."

"Are they one of your patients, Hermione?" Ginny said.

"It's… I'm not really looking to cure anyone." For once Hermione hoped she was good at poker face. "I was researching patients with the damage on their nerve system, and I was wondering if there's something else human… I mean, Muggle, can do but haven't found yet. I'm not going to apply anything I learn from this book," Hermione said showing the book in her hand, "to a Muggle. Don't worry."

"Oh," said Harry.

"So, how's the pregnancy, Ginny?" Hermione glanced to other books on the shelf. She probably could get another two or three more books before leaving this place with the Potter couple not figuring anything out.

"It's so fun!" Ginny placed her right hand on her swollen belly. In a smooth silk blouse and wide flowing skirt, her body wasn't as big as the old woman implied, but her stomach had expanded to what should be a natural size of a pregnant woman. "I get moody and aches every now and then, but I guess you know that being a doctor."

"Not yet a doctor," said Hermione. "How's the appetite?" When Harry sent loving looks toward his wife, Hermione pulled a book titled 'Rare Potions and You: 101 Problems!'

"She ate a lot," said Harry. "Everything goes here." He patted his wife's stomach. "Oh, it's moving!"

Ginny beamed. "The baby likes his father a lot, even though all he does is teasing me. You want to touch him?"

Hermione placed her free hand to the belly and felt a strong kick. She smiled. "Wow."

"The next Quidditch best," said Harry, proud.

Ginny giggled. "Oh, Hermione, I wanted to send you the letter but now that you're here…" She pulled out a small envelope from her pocket. "Would you come to my party next week?"

Hermione accepted the envelope. "Sure. For the baby?"

"Yes. If you don't have any schedule, I'd love for you to come!"

"I will, of course." Hermione placed the envelope on top of her books.

"Ron will be there," said Harry. He studied Hermione's expression and looked disappointed when she showed nothing. "It's been a long time since you two met, wasn't it?"

"No, actually." Hermione bit the inside of her cheeks. "Ron visited me a few days ago."

"Ron?" Ginny's eyes got bigger. "He visited you? He said he's busy! He's busy all the time he barely ever visited our parents anymore! What were you two talking about?"

Hermione didn't want to talk about this, but… "He asked me on a date?"

Harry's mouth formed an 'O' while Ginny screamed and hugged Hermione. "I knew it! I knew he's still in love with you!"

"Well…" Harry scratched the back of his head. "I don't know what to say."

"Say congratulations, you silly!" said Ginny, releasing Hermione.

"Um, congrats," Harry said. "Although for what, I don't know. It hasn't happened yet."

"Oh, it will!" Ginny's voice was several octaves higher than normal. "It'll be wonderful and they'll be together again!"

Hermione looked around. She saw a cooking book titled 'Easy Cooking Even You Can Do When Your house Elves Aren't Around!' and picked it up. Draco would probably like this. If the only food he knew how to cook was an omelet, she'd die from cholesterol before any cure was found.

She needed to make sure Draco Malfoy hid in her bedroom when Ron came by. Otherwise, never mind taking her time researching how to cure the nerve system, it would take weeks to clean the pool of blood from the carpet.

-x-

* * *

-x-

When she returned, Draco glanced up from the diagram he studied.

Her hands full with various sizes of bags, Hermione shut the door with her heel. She saw rows of candles on the coffee table, filling up the space. Hermione placed her bags down next to the table. "How many did you make?"

"A lot." Draco was back to the book on his lap.

Hermione saw the diagram of the human anatomy in the book and frowned. Then she noticed the stack of books on the sofa, next to Draco's wheelchair. "What are you doing with my books?"

He'd been reading it since this morning, the moment Hermione left the house. At first it was out of nothing to do and boredom of making candles. Then he was intrigued. The book of Muggle anatomy and various illnesses, it seemed, was chosen by Hermione precisely because it was outlining Draco's kind of injury. He wasn't the smartest of Hogwarts graduates. He didn't continue his studies into the specialized Wizarding academy out of the danger of his own past, but Draco was patient in finding out what he wanted to know.

There was a lot of Latin that was near to what he'd learned in school, and although he didn't understand part of the explanation, Draco now knew what happened to him, in Muggle terms.

Draco looked up. "So it's incurable?"

Hermione didn't have to ask what he meant. "It's partial injury, so you can still use your arms and move some nerves above your lower back. But to cure it…" She shrugged.

"There is absolutely no cure?" Draco flipped the page, seeing yet another table of explanation for spinal cord injury.

"Rehabilitation can minimize the effect. It'll take years, if at all possible." Hermione took out the books she bought. "At least you can still use your hands. Some people I volunteered for paralysed from the neck down."

He wasn't feeling so fortunate. Draco turned his palm up, studying his rough skin. Today when he was cooking and his hands burnt from hot wax he spilled, he wondered what would happen if he lost the feeling of his hands as well. For years, after being independent and leaving anything Malfoy but his name, Draco used his hands more than he used his wands. He didn't rely so much on magic anymore, knowing how spells he used would be traced by the ministry. Even one slight mistake may cost him his freedom. He wouldn't make the same mistake of relying too much on magic. What was left of his life, the small fortune he had, if there was still any now, was built with every callous he made in the palm of his hands.

Draco closed the book. "How long have you been researching?"

"Since I met you the first time at the hospital." Hermione went to him and gave him the book she bought. "I was thinking that maybe something will come up if I look somewhere else. So I went to Flourish and Blotts."

Draco accepted the book. He read the title and raised his brow. "'Cook Like a House Elf!'are you serious?"

"Why not? Since you seem to know your way around the kitchen." Hermione put the groceries into the fridge. "I bought ingredients so if you need anything else, just tell me."

Draco opened the cooking book but he didn't seem to have any wish on reading it. Looking at the stack of other books Hermione bought, Draco said, "What's that? 'Longbottom Healing?'"

"Oh, that." Hermione closed the fridge. "Neville wrote that. He specializes in herbs and medicinal cure nowadays. He's also the head of the Medicinal facility in the ministry."

Draco said nothing. When Hermione turned to watch him, he was reading from the book Neville wrote.

"Some of these herbs are very rare," said Draco. "He claims it heals, but you can't heal with something that only grows every 300 years."

"He's always good with herbs. I think I'll believe him if he said the potion will heal something."

Draco huffed and closed the book. "Then what's the point of reading books about rare stuff that you can't get anyway?" He threw the book to the empty spot on the sofa.

"And what do you know about herbs?"

Draco didn't reply. He steered his wheelchair to the television and turned it on. He took the remote from the top of the television and changed the channel.

"You know, you seem very familiar with the Muggle stuff." Hermione leaned against the counter. The counter that, now she noticed, was cleaner than it was yesterday. Draco cleaned the counter? Why did it seem so out of his character?

When Draco said nothing, Hermione said, "You have to be in the bedroom all morning tomorrow. Do you want me to put anything in there to make it comfortable?"

Draco stared at her. "Why?"

"To make you more comfortable."

"No. Why do I have to be in your bedroom all morning?" Draco said. "Don't you lock it so I don't get to see the non-Muggle items?"

Hermione snorted. "You really think I have anything close to Wizarding equipment in there? I barely have any room to put the bed."

"So why do I have to…" Draco stopped. "You invite someone here? Someone who knows who I am?"

Well. Nobody said Draco was not quick on the uptake. "Ron."

"Weasley." Draco looked away, to the screen. "When you said you were studying to be a Muggle doctor, I thought you broke up with him for good."

"I did break up with him." Hermione frowned. "Wait, how did you know I broke up with him? We're still together at Hogwarts."

"Oh, come on. Everybody knows the Weasley story. He's the closest thing to Harry Potter." Draco sighed. "Right after you. After you left, everyone was focusing on Weasley."

So Ron was famous right now. "I see."

"Wasn't he broke up with you because he wanted to live with that blonde? Who's her name…"

Hermione blinked. "I don't think it was your business to comment on our past. Yours wasn't so pure either, Malfoy."

"Oh, really? Then tell me, what did I do after Hogwarts?"

Hermione thought about it. She settled on a glower.

"Could you? Find anything about me on the Daily Prophet?" Draco turned towards her. "Or in anything else written by Rita Skewer?"

"It still didn't give you the right to comment on my past."

"Was it really only a past?" Draco murmured.

"What was that?"

"I assumed you left because he broke your heart. That was… what," Draco said, "three or four years ago? Now he's back, begging at your feet because the blonde wasn't enough, and you agreed." He tilted his head a bit then cringed from the pain. "It seemed too planned for me."

"What are you talking about?" Hermione pushed herself off the counter. "Don't talk as if you know him!"

"I don't. I was never his friend." Draco was calm. "Perhaps that's why I can see it differently than you and Potter saw him. I didn't exactly picture him as this little redheaded boy I grew up with all those years ago, my ex-boyfriend or my brother in law."

"I don't understand you. He helped you on your last year at Hogwarts! You must have forgotten what he did to make sure you graduated with all of us, despite what you did!"

Draco froze. A slight anger flickered in his eyes. Then he was back to being expressionless. "I remember. It doesn't mean I don't remember the blonde he was sleeping with behind you, and all the lies he said to you in front of everyone."

Hermione shook her head. "You're a liar. Even though that's true, that was years ago. People change. He is different now. I, for one, believe that people can change. You, for example."

Draco stared at her.

"You are not Death Eater anymore. Although I'm not sure you still have a heart after all the things you've done to us, I believe you have nothing to do with those people anymore. That's why I want to help you. That's why you're here. If I didn't listen to Ron when he said whatever you do, you're still one of us, you wouldn't be here."

Draco turned his eyes and stared at the blank wall. Clenching his teeth, the thin man swiveled his wheelchair and moved passing Hermione into the bathroom, then closed the door.

-x-

-x-

* * *

_To be continued…_


End file.
